Keeping Good Company
by Beth4LC
Summary: Dean and Sam are joined by Jess to deal with a missing John Winchester, burgeoning psychic powers, and a demon intent on killing one of them. This is a direct sequel to the author's previous story Three's Company Too.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a direct sequel to my previous story Three's Company Too. I would recommend you read that one first to avoid confusion, although it's not 100% necessary. Many thanks to RealFunkyTown, my beta, who kept track of all my rogue punctuation marks and made the story all-around better. I welcome and adore feedback of all kinds. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

If anything, this whole messed-up experience had taught Sam one thing: Always trust your instincts.

Sam had had second thoughts about taking this case from the moment Jess had brought it up, but he had been unable to deny Jess something that she really wanted. She had been adamant about helping out Zach and Becky. They _were_ friends, after all, and Sam had felt a little pang of sympathy as he read the email that had been sent to him and Jess. Also, after a month of fruitless searching for his dad, Sam felt that being able to help friends would help him feel not quite so hopeless. So he had joined Jess to present a united front to Dean, and they all had agreed to stop by for a visit and see what they could do.

A month together on the road had changed things in many ways for Sam. The memory of his Stanford days was slowly fading, and he felt himself fall more and more into the routine of being on the road and scanning headlines for possible hunts. The team dynamic between himself, his brother, and his girlfriend had started to solidify. The hunts they had been on had run as smoothly as hunts could. Dean was showing signs of really starting to trust Jess, and vice versa.

But in many ways, things were still the same. They still had no idea where the demon responsible for their troubles was holed up. Sam and Dean's father remained frustratingly off the map, a voicemail greeting giving Dean's number being the only indication that he was still alive. Sam had not had any more visions or dreams since the one that saved Jess' life, and he was no closer to understanding the one he had viewed. And despite it being a month on the road, things between Sam and Jess were still… weird.

He was still getting used to the idea of his sweet, supportive, cookie-baking girlfriend being a skilled hunter who tended to take as many crazy risks as Dean. He compensated for that by sticking himself in front of every scary supernatural thing that Jess chose to take on. Which she tended not to appreciate. That, in turn, made Sam determined to make it up to her in any way that he could. This particular hunt, for instance.

It proved the adage that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

The hunt had been awkward from the start. Sam had underestimated the number of uncomfortable questions he and Jess would have to field about their abrupt departure from Stanford. They had kept Brady's attack on them completely secret, and there seemed to be no plausible reason for dropping out of school to substitute for the real one. Jess, who normally got along with Becky very well, had been oddly withdrawn throughout the visit, leaving Sam on his own in the attempt to make safe conversation and keep Dean from hitting on Becky. The juggling act had given him a headache after just a few minutes.

The case had only gone downhill when the shape shifter had attacked Becky with Dean's face and they had been forced to separate, the entire police force on Dean's trail.

Sam tried to keep himself calm as he swallowed the beer Becky had brought him. Dean would be okay. God knew they had dodged their fair share of cops in the past. This situation wasn't any different.

Jess laid a hand on his bouncing leg, but it didn't help to calm him down like it usually did. She was acting strange, eyes tracking Becky carefully and talking even less than she had throughout this whole trip.

"Jess—" Sam whispered.

"No. Sh." Jess shushed him quickly. She was intently focused on their friend's voice coming from the kitchen.

"I had no idea that it wasn't Dean," Becky was saying. "Whatever it is, it's doing a good job of becoming other people."

"We think it can somehow access the memories of the person it shifts into," Sam explained, raising his voice to be heard over the clatter of dishes.

"So, let's say a shape shifter is real," Becky spoke as she came through with a cup of tea for Jess, "how do you stop it?"

"Well—" Sam began. But before he could speak any further, Jess suddenly leaped out of her seat and tackled Becky.

Becky let out a screech, and Sam jumped to his feet, feeling he should help, although he had no idea how he would do that.

He barely saw the flash of the silver knife before Jess was straightening up over the body of their now dead friend.

"Jess!"

"No, Sam, look," Jess panted, pointed to the marks she had made on Becky's skin. "She was the shifter."

Swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat, Sam took a closer look at Becky's cut throat. The edges were a discoloured ashy grey, appearing burned.

"Jess…" Sam didn't know what to say. She had probably saved their lives with her fast action. Sam hadn't had a clue… "How the hell did you know she was the shifter?" he demanded, adrenaline pumping too hard for him to worry about phrasing it politely.

Jess fiddled with the bloody handle of her knife, looking like a three year old caught finger painting on the walls.

"There's something I need to tell you, Sam," she finally confessed.

As far as she was concerned, they couldn't get away from St. Louis fast enough. Why had she felt compelled to take this particular case? Sure, it had seemed like a good idea when Jess had first heard about Zach's arrest. But when she came face to face with Becky, perfectly dressed and groomed even when her brother was in prison, Jess couldn't help but feel a little out of place in her simple jeans, tough boots, and lack of makeup. Things had just gotten worse from there. Between Becky getting attacked and Dean being accidentally framed for everything, Jess was glad they were already over an hour out of the city. The whole case had proven exactly how much her life had changed since Brady had attacked her in Palo Alto.

It was amazing the difference that a month could make to a person. One month ago, Jess would have been in the library at Stanford, researching for another paper for her almost-completed History degree. Now, she was in the backseat of a classic car, zooming down the interstate as she tried to explain to her boyfriend and his brother just exactly what _kind_ of psychic she thought she was.

"I can't read minds," she told Dean for the millionth time. "At least, I don't think so. It's like… emotions or intentions or something. I told you, I didn't even realize I was doing it for the longest time. I just thought I was good at reading you two."

"Okay, Jess, so tell me what _emotions_ I'm feeling right now."

"Right now, you're so predictable anyone who's met you for five minutes could tell you," Jess pointed out, reluctant to obey.

"Tell me anyway," Dean pushed.

Jess reached over to touch his ear, and he shrugged away.

"What the hell?" he demanded lightly.

"Physical contact helps," she told him.

"Okay. Doesn't mean you have to pinch me."

"I wasn't—" She forced herself to stop, ducking out of the way of the childish argument on the horizon. "Fine, whatever." She touched his ear again, this time being sure not to grab hold.

She took a breath in, trying to focus her attention. With the shifter, it had happened almost instinctually, but she really wanted to be sure to get it right this time.

When she concentrated, she could almost feel Dean's individual brainwaves tingle through her veins, causing goose bumps to prickle on her arms and the back of her neck. She resisted the temptation to pull away, instead letting the cold, alien-feeling emotions pool together and sink into her. Although initially chilly, the foreign emotions began to warm her up from the inside, like a shot of whiskey. Swirling the metaphorical glass, Jess analyzed what she felt.

"You're disbelieving," she announced quietly. "A little angry that I didn't tell you when I first suspected something, although I _told_ you that I didn't know that I should be suspicious until I felt the shifter, and also… afraid of what this means if I'm right. If Sam and I both have some sort of psychic power, then that's another connection that probably links us back to the demon."

She dropped her hand from his ear. Although the intense connection between them died, she could still sense him, and Sam; two bundles of nervous energy anchoring either side of the car.

Dean's grip shifted on the steering wheel, and he glared at the road ahead.

"You're right, Jess," Sam said. "I could have figured that out."

"Anyway, that's how I knew that the shifter was pretending to be Becky. It felt different than a normal person. I felt it first when it was pretending to be Dean, but I didn't recognize it at the time. The second time, though, I was sure. So I waited until I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"Well, you saved my ass, that's for sure," Sam commented.

"Please, babe, like I would risk anything happening to that bit of gorgeousness."

"We're getting off topic," Dean reminded them loudly.

"Okay, fine: back to the psychic thing. It's not only emotion," she continued. "It's also… mental state, I guess. Like right now, Dean, I know you're hungry so even though I can't read your mind, I'm betting you're scanning the signs for the best place to turn off."

"Seriously, dude?" Sam questioned. "We just ate, like, an hour ago."

Dean shifted guiltily. "Yeah, but I only had the one sandwich and it was mostly lettuce and hardly any meat and… You know what? I don't need to explain myself to you two. I'm the driver, and I want to stop for food." He changed lanes abruptly so they could take the next exit, shooting Jess a grumpy look through the rear-view mirror.

"You asked for it," Jess shrugged. "Quite literally, actually."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean cranked the volume of the stereo up and fed the Impala more gas.

Psychic thing aside, the fact that she knew the model of the car and the name of the album playing was enough for her to realize just how much had changed in the past month.

Dean was a man of refined routine. A creature of habit. A person who liked to do the same thing over and over again.

This took some work, given the life that he lived, but besides the constant change in location, he kept to the same patterns. Same car, same music, same type of food. Hell, even most motel rooms tended to be basically the same room with some variation of wallpaper and bedding.

So it was worth noting when something did change in Dean's life and in the past month, a hell of a lot had changed. For one, Sam was back in his life. Although he had never really formed the thought in his head, he had never expected to be on the road with Sam again. Dean's baby brother had fallen head over heels for the college lifestyle, and to have him suddenly drop out and take up hunting again with barely a backwards glance was unexpected, to say the least. That twist in fate alone was enough to send him reeling.

And then there was Jess. He freely admitted that he had all but dismissed her when he first met her. She was Sam's girlfriend, admittedly hot, but otherwise not important in the grand scheme of tracking down his missing father. That was until she had climbed into his backseat and shown him that she was about as kickass as they come without even knowing about cars or good music.

Dean had adjusted to a fair amount in the last month. So the fact that he was sitting calmly in a diner listening to Jess carry on about being psychic meant that he pretty much deserved a freaking medal. Or at least a plaque that he could hang in the trunk of the car.

"So, what, you can just read anyone here?" Sam was asking Jess.

"I dunno," she shrugged, picking at her salad nervously. "With you and Dean, it's easy. We spend way too much time together. It wouldn't even take psychic abilities for me to know what one of you is thinking. And with the shifter, it was sort of obvious. Once I knew what to look for, I mean."

Dean dropped his French fry back onto his plate and scrubbed his face with both hands.

"You're upset," Jess spoke.

"Don't," he warned her. "I don't need a play by play of the vibes you're getting from me.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Dean, lay off her," Sam spoke up.

Dean watched as Sam reached over with his large hand to rub Jess' back. She sank against Sam's shoulder as his arm came around her, and her pinched brow began to smooth out.

"It's not like she can control it," Sam continued.

"Sam, I'm a twenty-two year old woman. Not a puppy you're trying to house train."

Sam laughed softly. "Look, we know that psychics exist, right? And, sure, maybe we never thought that one of us would turn out to be one, but there's nothing wrong with it. There's no reason for us to be afraid."

He said it so convincingly, that Dean was very close to being taken in.

But Jess spoke up, voice muffled by Sam's shirt. "You're forgetting that I can see through all your bullshit now, Sam. You're just as scared about it as I am."

"I'm afraid _for_ you, Jess," he replied so quietly that Dean barely heard, "not of you. And anyway, I don't think this should change what our plan is. Find Dad and then go after the demon together. Take care of it once and for all."

Awesome. Although Dean agreed with the plan in principle, it had gotten them absolutely nowhere in the last month. Sure, they had ganked some evil shit, but that wasn't their ultimate goal.

"Actually," Jess spoke up, pushing herself upright and away from Sam. "I wanted to talk to you two about something." She straightened her fork and knife so they sat perfectly parallel with her plate and then pushed her water glass over an inch. "I think we should try a different tactic," she told them hesitantly.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked warily.

"Well, we've tried going after your dad for a month now, and we've gotten nowhere. So, yeah, we don't know where he is. But we do know what he's doing."

"Tracking down the demon," Dean filled in.

"Yeah, exactly." Jess nodded. "So if we start going after the demon, chances are we'll run into your dad."

Sam frowned. "So, we just abandon Dad and hope we run into him while we hunt the demon? And if we don't find him, what happens?"

"Dude, I think she's right," Dean spoke up. "If Dad's gone after the demon like we think he has, we're bound to come across him while we're hunting for it."

Jess nodded. "Look, guys, I want to go back to California. My dad was hunting the same thing before he died. We should check into his research and see if he's found anything that we don't have."

"California?" Sam shot her a disbelieving glare. "You mean where that demon tried to_ kill_ you, Jess? We shouldn't be going anywhere near there!"

"Sam, that was a month ago," Jess explained calmly. "By now, Brady… or, whatever that demon's name was, could be anywhere. California's just as safe as any other place. And it could really help us."

"I gotta side with Jess on this one, dude," Dean spoke up. "It's our best lead."

Sam was still frowning, but, sensing he was outvoted, agreed.

"But just a quick trip," he added. "We shouldn't be staying in the same place for too long, anyway."

Dean snorted. "Oh, look, Jess, turns out we found my dad after all."

"Shut up," Sam grumbled, taking a sulky drink of water.

Dean grinned, and popped the last fry into his mouth. "C'mon," he prompted, standing and throwing a few bills down on the table. "We've got a lot of road to cover."

"Wait." Jess hopped out of the booth. "I'm going to the bathroom first. It won't take me long; I'll meet you at the car."

Dean's eyes rolled to the ceiling, mentally converting Jess' definition of a short bathroom break into his own reckoning; something he was more than used to doing. And that fact alone was enough to remind him of just how much had changed in a month's time.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: For some reason, I seem to be having a hard time replying to reviews. Thank you to those readers who reviewed. I'm glad you see I caught your interest.

CHAPTER TWO

Sam had first been to see Jessica's family when he had been invited to her house for Thanksgiving a couple years ago. He and Jess had been starting to get serious and she insisted that he come with her when she found out he had no plans to spend the holiday with his family.

He remembered it being nothing like what he had expected. Based off Jess' ecstatic descriptions, Sam had expected some sort of domestic Xanadu rather than the chaotic environment he was thrust into. Her stepmother was a short wiry-haired woman who was so "free spirited" she tended to forget earthly things like turning off stove burners and dusting, and her teenage half-brother stomped around the house with a set of enormous headphones, alternating between moodily ignoring everyone and shouting at them to leave him alone. It took him two days of sitting in their kitchen chopping vegetables while listening to recordings of whale song to understand that this _was_ Jess' Xanadu. After that, it didn't take him long to appreciate it as well. He returned to school after the weekend with a new bond with her family, and missing his own more than he ever had.

And now, as they drove closer to Jess' home, Sam began to feel some excitement that came close to matching Jess' at coming to visit.

"Dude, imagine the best apple crumble you've ever had."

"Missy's," Dean answered instantly. "You know, when we were hunting that creepy farmer-ghost in Iowa?"

"Okay, so then multiply that by, like, ten. And add in some pecan pie. Then you're getting close to what this tastes like. I'm telling you, it's like a party in heaven. In your mouth."

"Food orgy. Sweet."

"That's disgusting," Jess commented from the backseat, barely glancing up from her phone. "Mom texted me back. She says that if we want coffee with dessert, we'll need to pick it up."

"She's going caffeine-free again?" Sam asked.

"For the fifth time this year," Jess smiled.

Whenever Sam had visited, there was always something that Nicole was cleansing from her diet. But whether it was caffeine, meat, or citrus fruits, she never seemed able to stick to it longer than a week or so.

They were able to pick up a can of coffee from a nearby grocery store, decaf, to Dean's dismay, barely delaying their trip to Jess' childhood home. As they pulled up in front of the house, Sam took a satisfied look at the familiar building. It was a small, bi-level home with blue trim around the outside. Although old, it was in excellent repair, and boasted an enormous backyard that contained a garden and an aging swing set. The door had a large glass window in it, although there were so many charms and crystals hanging from it, Sam still couldn't see clearly inside the house.

Jess used her spare key to open the door, and she called out as she stepped in.

"Jess!" Nicole was an extremely petite woman with a penchant for floor length skirts that made her look even shorter. She came from the direction of the kitchen and got flour all over Sam, Jess, and Dean as she greeted each of them. "Sam, I can't believe you never brought your brother over to visit before," she scolded Sam mildly. "And he's such a _nice_ man, too."

"There just never seemed like a good time," Sam shrugged sheepishly. The half-hearted excuse seemed easier than explaining their years-long estrangement, subsequent reuniting, and being on the run from a demon.

Jess, however, was never one to cut corners with her stepmother. "Mom, we've been running from a demon," she explained patiently as they came into the kitchen. "I told you that. That doesn't give us a lot of time for causal social visits."

"Well, of course I know all about that, honey." Nicole opened the coffee can and inhaled the aroma like it was her dying breath.

"You going to last?" Sam teased gently.

"I'll have some herbal tea," Nicole replied primly. "Jessie, your father's trailer's parked out back like it always is. You can look through it after we've eaten. But you're still staying the night, right?"

"We'll stay the night," Jess promised.

"Good, cause I had Dylan make sure to clean the spare room and—Dylan!" She shouted loudly, surprising Sam and Dean with her sudden volume. Jess remained completely unfazed. "Come out and say hello!"

Jess' half-brother Dylan stuck his head out the entryway for the den and gave Jess a sleepy smile.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Dylan!" Jess wasted no time in pulling her brother into a strangling chokehold and dragging him to the Winchesters.

"Ack! Jess, let go!"

She released his head, but wrapped a firm arm around his shoulders, tousling his hat-covered hair.

"Hi, Dylan," Sam greeted. Taking pity on Nicole, he flicked the coffee maker on and began spooning grounds into the filter.

"Dylan, this is Dean. Sam's brother," Jess introduced.

"Hey," Dylan grumbled.

"Hey," Dean replied awkwardly.

Sam watched the awkward exchange with interest.

"So… What are you listening to?" Dean gestured to the headphones that seemed super-glued to Dylan's head.

"Eminem," Dylan mumbled.

"Oh," Dean winced.

Then, miraculously, Dylan's eyes caught sight of the road through the kitchen window.

"Sweet car," he complemented.

"It's a '67 Impala," Dean replied, puffing up. "You like cars?"

"Dude, are you kidding?" Dylan pushed hair out of his face and leaned forward in a rare display of enthusiasm.

Leaving Dylan and Dean to their conversation for now, Sam turned to Jess and Nicole.

"I've had a few calls from some of your Stanford friends," Nicole was telling Jess. "They're worried about you."

"Did you tell them our cover story? Road trip across America?"

"Yes, honey, but that doesn't really make sense to anyone that knows you two. Sam was all set to go to Law school, and you were starting to look at grad school, too…" She trailed off, fidgeting with her long necklace.

"We're still planning on doing those things, Nicole," Sam reassured. "But this right here…"

"I know," Nicole brushed off quickly. "But the thought of you two driving around the country fighting God knows what… Jessie, you better keep calling me once a week, you hear? I don't want to know any details about what you shot, or who you exorcised, but you call me and tell me that you're okay, got it?"

"Of course, Mom."

"Good," Nicole nodded, brushing the corner of her eye so quickly that Sam almost missed it. "Now, Jess, you get some plates down, and Sam, you get the ice cream."

Nicole's apple crumble was every bit as delicious as Sam remembered. The combination of fresh dessert and hot coffee nearly put Sam into a satisfied coma, especially after the long drive.

It was still early evening, though, and they could get a lot of work done. With a slight push, he forced himself to get up from the table and start gathering plates, ear half-tuned to Dean and Dylan's extended car conversation.

"You should take him out front and show him the car," Sam suggested. "Jess and I'll get started in the trailer."

"Nah, I can help you and Jess." Although Dean tried to look sincere, his eyes strayed to the kitchen window, betraying his intentions.

"Go," Sam insisted. "Maybe if you show someone who understands all the repairs you did on the thing, you'll stop trying to explain it to me when we're on the road."

"We won't be long," Dean promised, gulping the last of his coffee and dragging a very willing Dylan towards the front door.

"I got some boxes so you can pack all of Ian's things and bring them in the house." Nicole nodded in the direction of several cardboard orange boxes. "It'll be nicer going through them in here rather in that musty old trailer."

"Okay," Jess nodded. "Thanks, Mom."

"Thanks, Nicole," Sam echoed.

The large RV-style trailer had been parked in Jess' backyard ever since Sam's first visit. When he had asked about it, Jess simply replied that it had been her father's, and that no one in the family was ready to get rid of it yet. Now that he knew about Ian Moore's hunting career, he was a little more interested.

"Why the trailer?" Sam asked as he crossed the soft green yard with Jess.

"My dad was on the road probably as much as your family," Jess shrugged. "A trailer makes sense, if you think about it. Instead of always moving and setting up protection in motel rooms, you just take your home with you. I'm surprised you managed with just a car."

"It's not just a car," Sam defended, not really sure why he was taking offense.

"I know," Jess replied lightly, slipping her hand into his. "It's more than that for you and Dean. Here, let me get the lock." She pulled out her set of keys and inserted one in the door.

"So your mom is okay with keeping his trailer in her yard?" Sam wondered as Jess swung the door open.

"They may have divorced a long time ago, but my mom and my dad were still really close, in their own way," Jess explained. "She was never interested in any of his hunting stuff, although occasionally she'll come across something in her New Age-y magazines that's got some truth to it. This trailer's always been my dad's, though, and I think she didn't want to just get rid of it without me looking through it first. But I never had a reason to until now." She clicked the switch of the light fixture, and growled softly when nothing happened. "Battery must be out," she explained. "Can you open that drawer to your right? That's where he kept the flashlights."

The narrow beams of light cast cool shadows around the trailer. Jess pulled out an electric lantern and hung it above the table. Old coffee stains jumped into focus at the light swung back and forth.

"This was always my dad's place," she spoke softly. "I remember when I was just a little girl, I would sit here at that table and help him fill shells with salt. He let me start melting the silver ones when I turned twelve."

Sam stroked her hand with his thumb. "Are you okay, Jess?"

"Yeah," she replied. 'It's just funny, you know? The stuff you remember?" She shook her head slightly. "Let's get this packed up."

Although her mother had suggested otherwise, Jess soon found herself combing through her father's things in the trailer with Sam rather than taking it back to the house. There were too many memories for her to simply push aside, and various journal entries brought a story that she had to share with the boys, and that usually prompted a return story by either Sam, or Dean, when he joined them, of their own lives on the hunt. The rapidly fading twilight increased their dependence on the flashlights and gave the stories an eerie, camp-fire feel.

"Your dad really hunted a nest of vampires?" Dean asked Jess. "I thought they were extinct."

"Pretty much," Jess shrugged, skimming through a book on Native American myths. "That was the last nest Dad came across, and that was… What, seven years ago?"

"Still. That's pretty awesome."

"Jess. Dean. I found something," Sam announced.

"What?" Jess crowded close to Sam, elbowing Dean to get a better angle.

"It's a list, like the one Dad had of locations and dates where the demon struck."

"We'll have to check it against Dad's," Dean decided. "See if there's any differences between the two."

"What else is there, Sam?" Jess asked. "Dad would've kept all his information on the demon in the same place."

"Some more information on demons in general," Sam replied, flicking through the pages. "Exorcisms, incantations… This is interesting." Sam pointed to a complicated circular drawing. "A Key of Solomon. He says that this will trap and incapacitate a demon."

"Sounds useful," Dean shrugged. "If it works."

"If it's in that journal, it works," Jess replied. "My dad wouldn't have put something in like that without testing it."

"There's the usual stuff about holy water and rosaries," Sam continued with his catalogue. "And this…" He paused on one page, and ran his finger quickly along the small typewritten text. "It's a story of some kind. Although I can't tell its origin…"

"Still, demon lore is demon lore," Dean shrugged. "Unless it tells us to fight them off using daisies and cotton candy, I say we take a look at it. What's it say?"

"Uh… It's talking about a demon who used to go into homes and prey on children. Babies."

Jess felt a prickle of familiarity on the back of her neck. "Does it mention any special powers?"

Her own abilities weighed heavily in her mind almost constantly. When they had first arrived home, she was stunned to feel the steady flow of emotion from both her mother and brother, familiar and yet thrown into clear, sharp imagery that she hadn't been able to pick up on before. Now, standing in the trailer, she felt anticipation and nerves that were so heavy they couldn't be her own entirely.

"Yeah, it does." Sam replied. "It says that each baby has a different—" He stopped abruptly, pushing the book across the table and as far away from him as possible. "No," he gasped, face pale in the flashlight beam.

She reached out to him instinctively, and almost fainted with the shock of emotions flooding her system. The tangle was so confusing, she could barely sort it out. There was shock, anger, shame... Too many for emotions her to handle.

Dean had picked up the abandoned book from the table, and ran a practiced eye down the page.

"It says in the story," Dean continued, voice husky and shaking. "That each baby was fed demon blood at a young age. And that's how they got all these special powers when they grew older."

"What?" Jess asked sharply, nausea rapidly rising.

"They're called the demon's children. In the story," Sam spoke up weakly.

The silence that filled the small trailer was enough to make Jess' ears explode.

"It's not true." Dean, of course, was the first to break the silence. "Like you said, Sam, it's just a story."

"No," Jess shook her head. "When Brady… that demon was in our apartment, he said something. He mentioned that…" She closed her eyes, trying to recall the words. "That 'daddy' didn't want his kids playing together. Or something like that. The story's true. It's demon blood; that's what causing my psychic thing, and Sam's vision. He saw _my_ death because it was the demon that wanted to kill me."

Jess couldn't read minds, but she felt as if she could as she watched the two brothers. Sam was frozen in a state of near shock, wrists upturned on the table as if he could burn the contaminated blood out of his body by staring at his veins. Dean, meanwhile, was so busy processing the landmine of information that he practically had smoke coming out of his ears. And Jess herself… She felt hollow, observing everything like she was looking through a window at the end of a long hallway.

"It doesn't mean anything," Dean finally announced. "Not about you, not about Jess."

"Dean," Sam spoke softly. "Are you even paying attention? How can you say that _demon bred_ supernatural abilities are an okay thing? What this is?" He smacked the story with his hand. "It sounds like the kind of thing that we hunt."

"Sammy, I've known you all your life," Dean replied with passion. "And I can say with absolute certainty that there isn't an evil bone in your body. Now, what this demon might have done to you? You couldn't control that. That has nothing to do with who you are today. Do you think any of these kids in the story are evil?"

"Not when they're babies," Sam replied. "But when they grow up—"

"Sam. That's not going to happen," Dean interrupted. "Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm not gonna let it, you hear? That goes for both of you. Whatever this crap is, we'll deal with it, just like we always planned, and then both of you will go back to living happily ever after for the rest of your lives, never worrying about demons again."

"That's very sweet," a voice drawled from the doorway. "Too bad right now, you've got a lot of demons to deal with."

Jess whirled around to get a closer look at their intruder.

"Mom?" she gasped.

Her mother's eyes flickered black as her mouth stretched into a terrible smile.

"Sorry, Jessie, Mom's not here right now."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Apologies for the late chapter, guys. I've had some communication glitches with my beta. I am planning on posting once a week, and I am working with a small buffer area, so I really don't think it will happen again. Thanks to everyone that has reviewed, alerted, lurked etc! Let me know what you think of this next chapter.

CHAPTER THREE

Dean hadn't spoken to his father in months, but John Winchester's voice echoed loudly from the back corner of his mind as if the man was standing right behind him.

_What were you _thinking,_ Dean?_

I'm sorry, Sir.

_Letting some demon get the drop on you? Sitting around all night without taking any basic safety precautions? _

I didn't—

_Exactly, Dean. You didn't think. How is this taking care of Sam? You promised to look out for him, and now suddenly you're cornered by demon without even a grain of salt for protection. Good luck getting Sammy out of this one alive._

The situation did look pretty grim. The demon wearing Jess' mom seemed to know that as well. It chuckled playfully, and took a casual step closer to them.

"I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed, kids. I expected better from you. If this is how you normally hunt, I have no idea how you've survived this long."

Dean refused to rise to the demon's bait, gritting his teeth instead. It was trying to get them to attack first, and Dean wasn't about to let himself get manipulated like that.

"You haven't been in her this whole time," Jess spoke, voice trembling, but still quietly assured. "I would've been able to tell."

The demon tilted its head to peer at her with interest.

"Very astute, Jessie," it hissed. "Someone's been working on their mojo. Keep that up, and maybe Sam will move to number one on my kill list instead of you. Although, I did have _such _a great time during our last visit."

"You were the demon inside Brady," Sam realized. "You tried to kill Jess in Stanford."

"Impressive. So far the team's been two for two tonight. Care to weigh in, Dean?"

"This isn't the end of a mystery novel, and you sure as hell aren't a criminal mastermind," Dean snapped. "Now get the hell out of Nicole, you son of a bitch."

The demon tittered, a pale echo of Nicole's full-bodied laugh they heard earlier this evening. "Please. Like that's happening, Dean." It took another step towards them, and Dean fought to keep from stepping back.

They were already crammed together in the far corner of the trailer, with nowhere else to go. Dean scanned the space desperately. If the trailer was used for hunting, there should be weapons there: salt, guns, and probably even holy water.

But the space was immaculate, aside from the mess of books they had pulled out. The deceased hunter's weapons were probably all hidden away out of sight. Fat chance Dean could find something before the demon had finished tearing him apart.

"Nowhere to run, kids," the demon taunted. "Might as well give up now. If you promise to go quietly, I'll even restrain myself from killing greasy little Dylan. Mom's still alive in here, too, although I kind of like this meat suit, so I won't make any promises to let it go soon."

Jess bit back a sob, but not before it was heard.

"That's right, Jess," the demon purred. "What do you say? Better than losing everyone you love to demons. Sam and Dylan and mommy dearest to me, and daddy… Well we know how that one went down."

"I thought he died in a car accident," Dean blurted out. Shit. He hadn't meant say that out loud.

Dammit, he shouldn't be playing into its games. Find a weapon. There had to be something. Anything.

The journal in his hand! It contained an exorcism. Not one he had tried before, sure, but it had the benefit of being accessible. Dean vowed to himself that when they escaped, he would memorize at least five different incantations.

"Sure, it might have been a car that crushed every bone in Ian Moore's body," the demon shrugged. "But the reason why his truck got turned into an accordion? That's all on us. We can't have hunters getting to close to our father, you know. John Winchester understands that. Don't you boys know that's why your daddy up and left? He thinks he can outrun us, but it's only a matter of time before we catch up."

"Enough with the mind games," Sam demanded. "If you're going to kill us, just get it over with."

It smirked. "My pleasure." Nicole's body lunged forward, intent on the attack.

But it had gone no further than a foot before it jerked to a stop abruptly, as if it had run into a glass wall.

"What did you do?" it shrieked, shaking with fury.

Dean, wasting no time to wonder about it, began searching in Moore's journal for the exorcism he had seen.

"Look," Jess choked out quietly, tears still running down her face. She raised a shaky flashlight to the ceiling of the trailer.

"It's the Solomon's key we saw in that book," Sam realized.

"I guess it does work," Dean shrugged. "Then this exorcism must be good as well." Finding the page, he took a deep breath before beginning to read.

"You're gonna pay for this," the demon panted, the words already having an effect.

"Not as much as you are," Jess asserted. "Have fun in Hell."

Dean kept reading, and the demon cried out, doubling over in pain. It shuffled back towards the door, but stopped as it hit the edge of the painted trap.

Huddled on the floor, the demon shook in pain and Dean nearly thought it was over until it suddenly began to laugh; a hollow chuckle that chilled the temperature of the trailer.

"What?" he snapped, not able to resist.

"It's just…" It took in a shuddering breath. "The devil's trap and the exorcism. You did it, sure. But you two…" It looked up to where Sam and Jess were standing. "Do you have any idea what you could do with the power inside you? And you're still relying on these crutches. It's a little like seeing Superman using a car."

"We're not using powers that come from something like you," Sam replied. "Dean, finish it off quick. We don't need to hear anymore."

Dean had never been more happy to follow his brother's suggestion in his life.

Jess watched her mom take the mug of hot tea carefully in her hands. It trembled as she brought it up to her lips, but Nicole still managed to take a small sip before cupping it and burrowing a little more into her blanket. Jess wanted to leap up from her seat and hold the cup for her mother, or make the blanket more snug, or somehow make this all better. But the waterfall of tears cascading down her face exhausted her enough to keep her in her seat, reaching out with her toes to touch her mother's enveloped thigh.

She was overloaded, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a warm bed with Sam and have him hug it all away. But instead, she had to take care of her family, and figure out what their next move should be. Demons don't take breaks, which meant that she couldn't either.

"It came after you had been in the trailer for a few hours," her mother told the concerned audience. "I was just getting ready for bed when I felt this… presence seep inside of me." She shuddered and took another calming drink of tea.

"How did it figure out we were here?" Sam wondered.

"It's been possessing Burt Hughes across the road for a while now," Nicole explained. "It saw you drive up, and waited until it thought you would be most taken by surprise."

Jess frowned.

"We talked for a bit," her mom choked out, answering the unasked question.

"Mom, I'm so sorry. We never should have come here."

"Jessie, don't you dare apologize," her mother spoke with surprising sharpness. "You're my daughter. Do you think I like the idea of you facing all these things on your own? I'll help you in any way that I can, and if that puts us in danger, then so be it."

Dylan, ice pack pressed weakly to his head, was nodding as well, and Jess felt surge of yet even more tears. Unable to speak, she nodded, although it didn't do much to dislodge the grapefruit-sized lump inside her throat.

"Thank you," Sam replied softly, expressing what she couldn't. "But we can't just let you stay here. Not when we know that demons are staking out the area. We need to get you somewhere safer; where you'll be protected."

Sam was right. There was no way Jess could drive away from her family now. They needed a place to hide, where demons wouldn't think to go and where they could be easily protected, if they were ever found.

"Bobby Singer's," Jess decided out loud.

"Wait, you know Bobby?" Dean asked.

"He and my dad had some business together a while back," Jess shrugged. "I don't know the whole story, but I do know that Bobby owed my dad a big one. If this isn't a time to collect, I don't know what is."

"He lives in South Dakota," Sam told Nicole softly. "I know it's far away, but if Jess thinks so, then it's probably our best bet."

"If you think so, Jessie," she agreed.

"Dylan?" Jess turned to her brother hesitantly. "I know this is a lot to ask, but I seriously think it's the best way to keep you guys safe."

"Yeah," Dylan mumbled, eyes partially glazed over. "Whatever you think."

Jess bit her lip, determined not to cry any more just yet. Dylan had been found unconscious in the house with a growing lump on his head and a smattering of bruises. He had passed Dean's concussion test, but he still looked dazed, and considerably freaked.

"We should leave as soon as possible," Sam spoke softly. "I don't know how often the demon checked in, but we shouldn't take any chances by waiting here for another one to come over."

Nicole stood shakily, setting the blanket aside. "I'll just pack a few things. You, too, Dylan. We'll leave within the hour."

Jess wanted to follow her mom upstairs, but stopped when she saw that Sam and Dean had their "planning" faces in place. She definitely wanted to be part of the conversation that hashed out how they were going to handle this.

"How long do you think it'll take to drive to Bobby's?" Sam asked Dean.

"If we push it?" Dean asked. "We've got three of us who can be potential drivers, so—"

Flattered though she was that Dean was finally considering her as a "potential" driver, Jess couldn't help but cut in.

"We're not driving," she told the brothers shortly.

Dean frowned. "But—"

"No, Dean, think about it. No matter how fast we drive or how few stops, it's still going to take us a few days. If we fly, we can be there in hours."

Dean scoffed. "Are you forgetting what happened the last time we were on a plane?"

"We exorcised that demon," Jess argued. "And, yes, demons could still follow us on the plane, but the same goes for on the road. And with the amount of time it would take to get us there, the chances of being caught on the road are just that much higher."

"But—"

"Dean, I agree with Jess," Sam interjected.

Dean sent an annoyed eyebrow quirk in his brother's direction. "You do?"

"Look, how about you follow in the Impala?" Sam suggested. "Jess'll stay at Bobby's until you can meet her, and we can go from there."

"So we're splitting up?"

"Temporarily," Sam replied, exasperated. "That's not so unheard of, Dean."

"Which group are you going to go with, Sam?" Jess asked hesitantly. Call her selfish, but she really, really wanted him with her.

Sam glanced helplessly between her and Dean, and just as she was about to take pity on him, Dean spoke up.

"You'll go with Jess. Obviously."

"Really?" Sam seemed mildly surprised.

"She's got civilians with her," Dean shrugged. "You'll protect each other, and Nicole and Dylan. I'll meet up with you at Bobby's. I just hope he's willing to see us. He may owe your dad a big one, but he'd be none too happy to see our dad again."

"He'll be fine," Jess asserted with more confidence than she felt. "He'll complain about it a bit, but as long as you don't drink all his beer he'll put up with an awful lot."

"Okay," Sam nodded. "So we're decided then."

"Dean, thank you," Jess said awkwardly. "For going along with this."

Dean shrugged stiffly. "Your family, your rules," he replied shortly. "Not much beyond that."

"… So Nicole and Dylan are okay. Sam and Jess are taking them… someplace safe. But, Dad, we found something weird in Moore's journal. Have you ever heard anything about—"

The beep sounded in Dean's ear, telling him that he had once again left a message that was too long on his father's phone. Dean wasn't sure why he even bothered calling when he knew that his dad wouldn't pick up and probably wouldn't call back. It was a force of habit, he supposed. He was in over his head, and desperately needing to have _someone _to tell.

Screw it. He'd just have to stumble along on his own, something he was getting pretty freaking good at by now. He threw his phone across the seat, cranked the AC/DC louder, and raised the needle on the speedometer. The heavy base made the steering wheel vibrate and Dean let out a long, slow exhalation as the vibrations tickled the palms of his hands.

So his father was still incommunicado. That wasn't news, it was the new status quo, and Dean sure as hell should be getting used to it by now.

And as for Sammy… They had made the right call, both with sending Jess' family on a plane to Bobby's and with Sam accompanying them.

Dean knew that, logically, but still avoided looking at the empty passenger seat as much as possible. He would meet up with Sam soon, and they would be back on the road together. With Jess, of course.

Which was great. He liked Jess, really he did. She was awesome. Awesome because she knew how to handle herself in a fight, she never nagged when he left crap on the bed she shared with Sam, and she was as stupid in love with Sam as he was with her.

So, his dad had a decades-long vendetta to run off to, Sam had the freaking girl of his dreams, and Dean… Dean had his car. And his tapes. Which was fine. Really.

Dean groaned with relief when he saw that a turnoff was up ahead. However small the town was, it was bound to have somewhere for him to get at least a cup of coffee and stretch his legs. He had been driving for too long, and it was starting to screw with his brain.

A short while later, he was pleased to discover that he could not only get coffee, but also a full meal in the bargain. The independent diner was a little seedy, with dust on the window shades and some water spots on the glasses, but that all made it sort of homey to Dean. The restaurant was hardly crowded, with a couple of wrinkled men sitting in the booth closest to the door, cups of coffee and empty plates keeping them company. Dean chose to sit at the counter, not planning on staying very long. He ordered the biggest burger he could find on the menu from the sour waitress, and waited only a few minutes before it was dropped in front of him.

It was a thick burger, seeping ketchup and mayo as he picked it up lovingly. The cheese was melty and delicious and the lettuce was crisp.

"That's got to be the best looking cheeseburger I've ever seen," a voice spoke up, nearly startling him into dropping his burger.

She was a petite woman, barely out of her teens, it seemed, with a short blonde haircut and low slung jeans.

"Uh…" Dean didn't normally find himself at a loss with women, but something about her brazen comment threw him off guard.

"Sorry," she laughed, throwing Dean a smile with a hint of a sharp edge. "I haven't eaten in a year, and that glorious mess on your plate is just calling to me." She waved the waitress over to her. "I'll have the same thing he's got. And I want it, like, yesterday."

No one ever said that Dean wasn't a gentleman. So as he carefully transferred his burger into one hand, he pushed his plate of fries towards her.

"Until yours gets here," he explained.

"You're a saint," she murmured reverently, plucking a fry from the plate and popping it into her mouth.

"Not quite as wholesome as that," Dean grinned at her. Sure it wasn't like he was going to take this girl home anytime soon, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to have some company while he ate.

"Fair enough," the girl agreed easily. She hopped up on the chair beside him and planted her elbows on the counter. "So: got a name, stranger?"

"Dean," he replied, seeing no harm in giving his real first name. "And you?"

She smiled that wickedly sharp grin again and took another fry from his plate. "My name's Meg. It's nice to meet you, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you very much to all the people who wrote a review, subscribed to alerts, and favourite this story! I love hearing what people are thinking of the story, and it does really help me in planning it out. I hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER FOUR

Dean's short pit stop had very quickly turned into an extended break. Two dirty dinner plates sat on the countertop in front of Dean along with matching sets of coke glasses, coffee mugs, and half-demolished plates of pie. His dinner partner sucked on her spoon for a moment before removing it slowly from her mouth, grinning through her overt flirting.

"I'm glad I decided to sit beside you, Dean," she told him. "It was a gamble, you know, but I think that it paid off."

"Please," he snorted. "Take a look, Meg. You know I'm gonna pay off."

She snorted into her next mouthful of pie. "Always so modest. That's why I like you."

Dean grinned, but then winced as he caught sight of the battered clock that hung above the kitchen window. "As much fun as it's been, I need to get going. I've got a deadline to make."

"Meeting up with your brother, right?" Meg sighed. "And his girlfriend."

"Yeah." How did she manage to put the exact same feeling into those words that he was thinking of not too long ago?

"How is that?" she asked with an arched eyebrow. "I'm sure it's probably different for you guys, but I think I'd feel like a total third wheel in your place."

"It's not like that," Dean protested, feeling her come uncomfortably close to the truth.

"Sure, of course not," she agreed easily.

"It's just… sometimes my brother and I do stuff, and sometimes he and his girlfriend do stuff. And anyway, when I get time to myself, I get to spend it with people like you. You think my kid brother would tolerate me spending all this time with a girl as awesome as yourself if he didn't have a girlfriend to keep him busy?"

"I guess there is always that," Meg laughed. "He and his girlfriend are pretty close then? Being on the road together hasn't caused any fights between them or anything?"

"You think I'd let them fight in my car? That was a rule right off the bat. I'm no relationship counsellor, and the last thing I want to do is get between my brother and the woman does most of our coffee runs."

"You're a smart man, Dean. Still I can't imagine it'd be all sunshine and roses for the three of you."

"We get along fine," Dean replied neutrally. Was it his imagination, or did Meg seem a little disappointed in hearing that? She was certainly pushing the whole "hidden tensions" idea hard. But she blinked and then smiled sunnily up at him.

"Good to hear."

"Anyway, it's been fun." Dean stood up and rooted in his pocket for his wallet. "But I really have to get going."

"Hey, Dean." Meg stood abruptly, dropping her spoon on the counter with a loud clatter. "I know this is really sudden and everything—"

"I'm not having sex with you," Dean interrupted.

Meg laughed, rolling her eyes. "That wasn't what I was going to ask, you pig."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Well, I'm sort of hitching my way across country, and I don't know if you noticed, but this area is sort of a no-man's land as far as truckers or any sort of regular traffic, really. Not a lot of people go up and down this stretch of highway. If you don't mind, I could really use a lift out of here. Might help to keep you company on the road, too."

Dean bit back the yes that was already blooming on his lips. As much as he disliked the empty miles that lay ahead of him, letting a stranger join him for the trip was, put plainly, a stupid idea.

Why was he so ready to say yes? That alone was enough for him to re-evaluate his dinner partner.

And that's when he noticed a flicker of something underneath the open humour and casual flirting she been showing him. There was a hint of hunger, a type of eager anticipation that put him instantly on guard.

"You… don't know what direction I'm going," he replied slowly, frantically running through the conversation he had had with Meg. Thankfully, his instincts to be discreet were too deeply ingrained to be removed by a couple hours of pleasant flirting. He hadn't even given out Sam and Jess' names.

"I guess not," Meg brushed off with an embarrassed laugh. Although the tone was pitch-perfect, it failed to reach her eyes, which remained unchanged marble. "It doesn't really matter to me, though. As long as it's out of here and into a town with a real grocery store and maybe a Greyhound station."

"I don't think so," he shook his head, watching her carefully. "I'm on a pretty tight schedule."

"C'mon, Dean. At least tell me what direction you're heading. Even if you're going remotely close to civilization, I can walk the rest of the way. I didn't think you were the type to leave a girl hanging." She reached for his arm, and he jerked away, shoving it in his pocket and clasping his hand around his flask of holy water.

The instinctive action forced him to calm down. He shouldn't freak out; he had to be over-reacting, seeing monsters where there was none. She was just a normal girl, if a little stalker-crazy.

"I've got to get going," he told Meg abruptly. "Sorry I can't help."

"Okay, Dean. Whatever you think is best."

Her cold eyes stared up at him, all traces of amusement vanished.

Dean shook himself off as he exited the diner, trying to remove the itch crawling over his skin. He slipped into the Impala, starting the engine before he had fully closed the door. Meg watched him from the window of the restaurant, her body held perfectly still as her eyes tracked his every move.

Okay, so he had no conclusive evidence that she was a demon. For all he knew, she could just be garden-variety crazy. Or maybe even a perfectly normal chick who didn't like being told no. After all, all she had done was ask for a ride, which any hitchhiker would do if they had just shared a meal with someone. But those eyes… Sure, they hadn't turned black or anything, but there was something in them that didn't feel human.

For miles, he checked his rear-view mirror obsessively, always letting out a relieved exhalation when he saw the empty road stretched out behind the car.

The last time Sam had seen Bobby Singer, it hadn't ended well. He never really got the whole story over why Bobby got so upset with John, but Sam could definitely understand how someone could get mad enough at his dad to threaten him with a gun. Although Sam had understood Bobby's wrath, he had been a lot shorter back then, so he was a little wary of meeting the man again. He had planned to tread carefully.

Jess, in comparison, seemed to treat Bobby like a mix between the crazy old uncle that all his Stanford friends seemed to have stories about and the large stuffed panda she had owned since infancy and had hidden from Sam for months before finally admitting to her attachment.

Bobby had greeted them at the door brusquely, leading them into the kitchen immediately. A round of beer was passed to Jess, Sam, Nicole, and originally Dylan before Nicole's frown made Bobby keep the beer for himself and give the teen a Coke instead.

Jess took a quick pull before swallowing loudly and showing her clean mouth to Bobby.

"Happy?" she demanded, one hand stuck to her hip and the other loosely gripping the bottle.

Bobby melted before Sam's eyes and opened his arms to Jess.

"Come here, Jessie. God, it's been forever since I've seen you."

"I'm sorry," she replied, voice muffled by his shirt. "I just needed to get away for a while."

"I know. You did what you needed to do."

She pulled away from him, and dropped into a kitchen chair.

Bobby narrowed his eyes to glance at his other guests. "I haven't seen any of you take a drink yet."

Wanting to keep Bobby happy, regardless of the instructions, Sam took a quick drink from his bottle. It was a dark, flavourful brew. Much better than the usual fair available at the typical college party. When Nicole and Dylan followed suit, Bobby nodded, apparently pleased with something, and leaned back against the counter.

"We're all clean, Bobby." Jess rolled her eyes. "We've been careful."

"No harm in checking," Bobby shrugged.

Sam frowned, knowing he was missing something. "What—"

"Holy water in the drinks," Jess explained quickly to Sam.

"That… tells if someone's a demon, right?" Dylan asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Bobby replied, turning gentle eyes to the teenager. "You're Moore's boy, right?"

"Yeah. I-I mean, yes. Sir."

Bobby snorted and took a long drink out of his bottle. "Your dad was a good man, kid. Got me out of a pretty tricky scrape a while back. Least I can do is help you folks out of yours. First thing's first." He took his bottle through the kitchen and into a crowded, messy study. He grabbed something from the desk and marched back. "Protective amulets," he explained, handing a leather cord strung through a small medallion to each person in the kitchen. "Whoever's wearing one of these can't be possessed."

Jess pulled hers off the cord, slipping it onto the chain that held her silver cross. It had been a gift from her father, she had told Sam. The cross itself was blessed silver, but the chain was steel to prevent it from accidentally snapping. Something that could happen far too easily with the leather cord Sam's amulet was hanging from.

"If the cord breaks, it won't be much use," Sam spoke, more to himself than anything.

"Then don't let it break," Bobby snarked.

"Um… Yeah. Right, of course."

"Bobby, can I show Mom and Dylan where they're going to be?" Jess asked. "We haven't got a lot of sleep, you know…"

Nicole seemed practically dead on her feet, Sam realized. He should have been paying more attention to that, but he had been so focused on getting everyone there safe that he hadn't taken time to make sure they were still healthy.

"You stay here," Jess patted Sam's shoulders. "I'll be down in a minute."

Jess went upstairs with her family, leaving Sam alone with Bobby.

"Sammy Winchester," Bobby grinned, taking a swig of his beer. "It's been a while."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, risking a small smile. "I go by Sam now, by the way."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Bobby chuckled. "Geez, you got tall, kid. Last I heard, you ran away to college."

"Stanford," Sam supplied, picking at the label of his bottle. "That's where I met Jess."

"You two really dating?"

Sam nodded, feeling the goofy grin stretch across his face like it always did when he talked about Jess. Damn Dean for pointing it out to him. He had been blissfully ignorant of the reflex before.

Bobby cocked an eyebrow. "Your dad know she's Moore's daughter?"

"He doesn't know anything about Jess. Why?" Sam asked curiously. "Did my dad know Jess' dad?"

"They worked a few hunts together, as far as I know," Bobby shrugged. "But for a couple of obsession-driven hunters, they never got along well. I don't think this will come as a surprise to you, Sam, but your dad was never great at making friends in the hunting community."

"Yeah, no kidding," Sam laughed. "I don't remember ever meeting him. You know, Jess' dad."

"John Winchester didn't let a lot of hunters close to you," Bobby replied. "One of the smarter things he's done. He may have put you and Dean through a lot that normal kids never experienced, but he does have an eye out for your safety, Sam."

Sam shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. In his years at Stanford, it had been easy to remember all the negative things about his dad. It made the separation easier. That strategy hadn't changed while he had been on the road searching for the man. But to have Bobby reminding Sam of all the things that John had done _right_ in raising his sons…

"Bobby… You haven't seen my dad recently, have you?"

"Not in years, Sam," Bobby frowned. "Why?"

"He dropped off the map a couple months ago," Sam explained. "We've been trying to track him down."

"That's why you and Jess left school?"

"…Yeah. We think he might've got a solid lead on the thing that killed my mom." Sam figured a half truth was better than a whole one at this point. He didn't know Bobby well enough to tell his and Jess' shared stories, as well as the demon attack on them both at Stanford. He would have to talk to Jess and see what she was comfortable with sharing.

Bobby looked at him with an uncomfortably knowing gaze, but Sam was thankfully saved by Jess' arrival with a pile of blankets in her arms.

"Hey, Bobby, I'm sorry to be sure a bad houseguest, but I think I'm going to pass out if I don't get to sleep soon," Jess told their host. "I'm gonna make a bed in the living room for me and Sam and we're gonna crash, okay?"

"Fine," Bobby agreed. "Your mom and brother okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Thanks again, Bobby. I don't know where else I would have taken them."

"I would have been insulted if you tried, Jessie. Get some sleep, both of you. We'll start going over your game plan when you've had some rest."

The "bed" Jess made up for them was really just a few blankets and pillows on the floor, but when Jess crawled in beside him, it was nearly as comfortable as their old bed at Stanford.

Tired as he was, Sam laid still on his back for a long time, processing everything they had gone through in the last day. It had been a foolish move on their part to just assume that the demon who had been keeping tabs on Sam and Jess at Stanford wouldn't think to keep tabs on Jess' family. Although it had been dangerous, Sam was glad that they had gone anyway because it meant that Nicole and Dylan were taken someplace safe until the whole thing blew over.

Whatever the "thing" was, it was apparently a lot more than one woman dying in a nursery fire over twenty years ago. It involved a pattern, multiple demons, psychic powers, and… demon blood. If Moore's research was to be trusted, that's what was in Sam's veins right now. That's what had been there ever since he was six months old.

"Sam, you're still awake, right?" Jess whispered.

"Yeah."

"Are you thinking about it, too?"

"The demon blood?"

She nodded, cheek pressed against his chest.

"Yeah, I am," he answered.

"I don't think you're evil because of it, Sam," she told him.

And weak though it made him feel, Sam couldn't help but feel enormous relief when she said it.

"Jess, you're one of the purest people I know," he responded. "Demon blood doesn't change that."

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Jess?"

"I don't want to be psychic if it comes from demon blood. I'd rather just cut that whole part of me off, no matter how painful."

"Jess…"

"I'm turning if off," she announced firmly. "I'm not going to use it anymore. No matter how hard it is, I'm not going to let it be a part of me."

As much as Sam disliked the idea of demon-gifted psychic powers, Jess' plan seemed to be flawed.

"Can you sense what I'm feeling right now?" Sam asked gently.

After a beat of silence, she began to pull away from him. "If I practice, maybe I can learn to block it out."

"Jess…" He pulled her back towards him and she came, hardly any hesitation. "Not for right now. Please. For now just… sleep, okay?"

"Okay." She sighed, her breath tickling the hairs on his arm as it wrapped around her. "I can sleep for now." She shifted closer to him and then laid still, her breath slowly evening out along with his.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Because I am paranoid (and equally clueless) about ratings, I'm putting out a warning that there is one f-bomb in this chapter. It is completely in character, however, and I don't think another word would work nearly as well in this passage. While I am at it, I would like to say that I do, in fact, like Harry Potter. I just don't think the character who mentions it here would like the series.

Thank you to all the reviewers to this story as well as those to continue to follow silently. I'm so glad to see you are continuing to enjoy it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Bobby slid his fingers up underneath the brim of his hat, scratching the itch away purposefully. Slamming the hat back into place, he took a gulp of his cooling coffee.

He let out a big puff of air. "So. Demons."

"Yeah."

Jess and Sam sat together, directly across from him. The fingers of her left hand played with the ones on Sam's right, and both sets of eyes skittered around the room avoiding Bobby's at all cost.

"Look, you two, you can keep your secrets if you want, but I can help you more if you let me into your little club, understand?"

"I know. Sorry, Bobby, it's just hard to know where to start with all of this."

"Stanford," Sam supplied.

"Yeah," Jess nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay, so this demon attacked me in Stanford about a month ago. The same one we exorcised at my mom's. That's why we had to leave school and start hunting full time."

"It said that another demon had plans for me and Jess and that our relationship was going to get in the way of it," Sam explained.

Bobby frowned. "What sort of plans?"

"We're not sure," Sam admitted. "That's part of what we're trying to figure out. We want to know what it means for us, and for others like us."

"Others?"

Rather than replying, Jess turned to Sam and asked a silent question with a tilt of her head.

He squeezed her hand in response, which she seemed to take as an affirmative answer.

"It goes back to when we were six months old," Jess explained. "We're pretty sure that the demon came and…" she swallowed back a gag, "fed us blood."

"Shit!"

Jess flinched at Bobby's reaction, dropping her head down. Sam frowned and tightened his hold on her hand.

"Six months…" Bobby's brain was working overtime, heating up beneath the old trucker cap. "That's the same time both of your mothers died."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"So John and Ian were both chasing after the same thing," Bobby mused. "Could probably have helped each other out a fair bit if they weren't too stubborn to work together. Idjits."

"Bobby, aren't you going to say anything about—"

"The only thing I'm going to say, Jessie, is that you have to be careful. What that demon did to you and Sam… It doesn't damn you straight away, you hear? You're human, obviously. You have a choice and I know you'll choose the right path."

"Thanks, Bobby," Jess grinned weakly.

"Yeah, well," he grunted. "I'm just trying to make sure Ian's baby girl is okay. You think I want his vengeful spirit coming around here any time soon?"

Jess choked out a laugh. "You'd never get the smell of Pilsner out of your house, that's for sure."

"Okay. So, I'm guessing your plan is to find Winchester Senior and track down the damn thing together?"

"Jess' dad also has some research," Sam reported. "There are some names of other possible people like us."

Bobby nodded. "I'll help you however I can, of course, but I know that Ian already went through my library a few times. John, too." He reached to grab a couple well used books off his shelf. "I can at least help protect you from any more unwanted attacks. What sort of protection runes are you using now?"

"Uh…" Sam glanced over at his girlfriend. "Well, we always lay down salt lines."

She nodded fervently.

"Balls," Bobby spat. "You mean you two and your fool brother have been traipsing round the country for the last month with nothing but a line of salt between you and a pack of demons?"

"Salt's always kept us safe in the past," Jess shrugged sheepishly.

"Idjits. Okay, here's the plan for today." Bobby grabbed more books from the shelf. "You two are going to spend every waking minute in this house reading and memorizing every ritual, exorcism, and drawing in these here books. You two got into Stanford, god knows how, so it's about time to show those brains you supposedly have. And trust me, there will be a test at the end."

The morning had left Jess exhausted. Sure, she was used to studying and researching as a student and more recently as a hunter, but Bobby was a stern task-master, keeping them hard at work for hours straight. Their break for lunch hadn't come soon enough, and Jess was actually looking forward to spending some time in the afternoon at Bobby's makeshift gun range with Sam. Although she knew her way around a gun, Jess' aim still wasn't as good as the Winchester boys, and she wanted to be sure she was keeping up with them.

But all thoughts of target practice were put aside when she stepped into Bobby's office and found Dylan with his nose buried in a crumbly Latin tome.

"Dylan, what the hell are you doing?" Jess crossed the small room quickly and knocked the book out of her younger brother's hands.

Dylan pushed his hat back and slipped his headphones down around his neck. Jess could hear the sound of 50 Cent beating faintly from the iPod, the music made small and tinny by the distance.

"I'm reading an exorcism, Jess, _jeez_," Dylan replied, like it was a perfectly normal thing.

"No, you're not," Jess snapped. "You don't read exorcisms, Dylan. You're in high school; you're supposed to be reading…" What on earth _were_ teens reading these days?

"Harry Potter?" Dylan suggested sarcastically.

"You know what I mean," Jess grumbled. "I don't want you messed up with any of this stuff, Dylan. You're…" Too young. She didn't say it, but the bitter scoff Dylan gave her showed that he understood her just as well.

"Jess, when you were seventeen, Dad was taking you on 'camping trips' almost every other weekend."

"Yeah," Jess squirmed, "but, it's different with me."

"No, Jess, it's not!" Dylan exploded; face suddenly red, arms swinging wildly.

Jess blinked at the tidal wave of anger that washed over her. Damn it, she was supposed to be repressing this kind of thing. She shoved the emotions she felt back down inside her, like pushing the cork back in an overflowing champagne bottle. It held, for now.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, forcing the words to come out coolly as if his emotional state hadn't changed hers. Because it hadn't. It wasn't allowed to.

"There's no reason why Dad couldn't have taken me too!" Dylan continued, warming up to his tirade. "I was _there_, growing up with you the whole time. Dad just never saw me. But I could've been with you, Jess. I would've been just as good, I promise. If Dad just gave me a chance…" He turned from her abruptly, and Jess stood there, wooden.

She had never thought about leaving Dylan at home all those times she had taken off for hunts with her dad. Dylan was younger, for one thing, but he was also lacking the critical connection Jess had to the supernatural.

"It's because of my mom, Dylan," Jess explained gently. "That's why dad took me all the time and not you."

"What? Mom never—"

"Not our mom, my mom," she corrected. "My birth mom. She was killed by a demon when I was six months old. You knew that, right?"

Dylan nodded. "Dad wanted revenge. You do too? That's why you always went with him?"

"Not really," Jess confessed, fiddling with some papers on the edge of Bobby's desk. They were just scraps, practice sheets she and Sam had used for drawing Devil's traps. "I mean, I'm sad about my birth mom dying, sure, but I never really knew her. You guys have always been my family. I just went with Dad because it meant I got to spend time with him. You know as well as I do how often that would happen outside of hunting."

"Yeah."

"Dylan, trust me, it's a good thing that Dad never took you on hunts. You can stay out of it."

"Doesn't really feel like I'm out of it." Dylan gestured to his surroundings.

"I'm sorry," Jess whispered. "That's my fault. Having you stay at Bobby's is the only way I can think of to keep you safe." The paper crinkled in her fingers as she crunched and flattened it, over and over.

"The demon that's after you… Is it the same one that killed your mom?"

"Yeah."

"Why? Cause you and Dad were hunting it?"

"No," Jess bit out. "I'm not sure what it wants from me, Dylan," she confessed. "But whatever it is… The reason my mom died is because it was coming after me. Oh, god," she realized. "Maybe that's why dad always took me with him. Not because of revenge, but because it's all m-my fault, and I… I needed to make it b-better." The stale flavour of old books began smothering her, and she sank blindly onto the floor, paper pressed to her face as she tried to block it all out.

Hesitant arms settled around her, and she choked out a laugh as Dylan patted her awkwardly on the back.

"Dad wasn't stupid, Jess," Dylan told her. "A jerk, sure, but not dumb. Maybe the reason why he took you on all those hunts was because he knew that the demon would come after you one day, and he wanted to be sure that you were ready for it."

"Dad wasn't a jerk," Jess mumbled, pulling away from her brother.

"Whatever, Jess." Dylan stood, pulling his jeans back into place. "He barely made time for either of us, and couldn't get over his obsession enough to keep hold of Mom."

Jess was silent as she climbed up off the floor. Dylan was right, after all. But recent experience taught her that giving up hunting wasn't something as easily done as Dylan suggested. Once the hooks were in, they didn't come out.

"I still say I can help you," Dylan grumbled, flipping open another one of Bobby's demon books.

"Not happening," Jess said flatly, closing the book and setting it back on the shelf. "You're not involved in this, and it's going to stay that way."

"I'm already involved in it, Jess," Dylan snapped, all his earlier heat flooding back in. "God, you're my sister, you think I don't care about what happens to you?"

"I'm not going to let you in on this, Dylan," Jess replied firmly. "Sam and Dean and I are going to take care of it, and you're going to stay here _safely_ at Bobby's. He's got a ton of old cars and I'm sure he can teach you a lot about them."

"I don't care about fucking engines, Jess!" Dylan bellowed. His stray hand hit a stack of books, toppling them over.

"Dylan!" The force of his anger slapped her across the face, breaking down any barriers she had tried to put in place.

"Shut up," he fumed. He stormed out of the room, knocking into her shoulder roughly on his way out.

Jess slowly collected the scattered books with shaking hands, organizing them as she went. Calm down. She had to calm down.

The room was still full of Dylan's emotions, a swirling, seething cauldron of rage and hurt and worry. Her champagne bottle metaphor was doing squat right now. So instead she built a damn. It was made with thick, heavy blocks, stacked together so there were no gaps. She built the damn as high and as wide as she could, the whole time not letting herself think about what happens when a damn bursts.

It wasn't until the Impala rumbled up the drive and came to a gentle stop that Sam realized how on edge he had been. Spending the past month together with barely any time apart had almost erased the memory of the apprehension he felt whenever he was separated from his brother. Even at Stanford, in the early morning hours following an epic all-night study session, Sam had found his thoughts drawn to wondering where Dean was and whether or not he was okay. Now, with a demon hunting their asses, his unnecessary concern had been dialled up a couple notches. But it _was_ unnecessary, he reminded himself, because Dean was his kick-ass older brother and nothing bad could happen to him. Still, just because Dean had to be okay didn't mean that Sam couldn't go outside and meet him when he pulled up.

"No problems?" Sam greeted his brother, hovering close to the car door.

"It was fine, Sam," Dean grouched, stiffly lifting himself from the car.

"Uh, here." Sam couldn't hold the mug steady, and coffee sloshed over his fingers as he shoved the drink at Dean.

"What, I don't even get to come inside first?" Dean lifted his brows, but took a sip of the coffee anyway. And, sure, maybe it could have waited, but Sam wanted to know _right away _if his brother was okay.

The cold outside air made steam rise heavily from the cup, mingling with their breath.

"Made with holy water," Sam explained when Dean showed no signs of reacting to it.

"Oh, yeah, I remember Bobby used to do that."

"Really? I didn't."

"Was a few years ago," Dean shrugged. "Here, take this back, I gotta get my bag from the trunk."

Sam held the coffee cup in his hand as his brother circled around the car. Dean plugged the key in his trunk and lifted the hatch up in one smooth motion. His canvas duffle thumped when he dumped it on the frozen ground before grabbing another bag and hefting it in Sam's direction.

Sam scrambled to catch the handle, and was pulled out of balance at the unexpected heaviness. More coffee dribbled down his fingers and he bit back a hiss.

"What's in this thing?" he complained.

"Been a while since we've done good maintenance on the weapons," Dean replied, closing the lid of the trunk. "I figured we could use some of the downtime here to do that."

"Sure," Sam shrugged.

"And watch the coffee," Dean ordered. "I want the rest of that when we get in."

Sam purposefully tipped the cup so about half the beverage spilled out onto the snow. "Oops."

"Bitch." Dean shouldered Sam roughly, causing the rest of the scalding drink to spill over his hand and onto his jeans.

"Ouch! Dean!"

"Serves you right for bringing a coffee mug out here in the first place. Seriously, you couldn't have waited two minutes for me to get inside?"

Sam shrugged, embarrassed at his impatience. The empty mug was still steaming in his hand.

"Man, I'm beat" Dean announced. "I haven't taken a marathon drive like that in months."

"Dean… Thanks."

Dean paused, one foot on the steps leading up to Bobby's door. "For what?"

"For… taking a long, crappy trip by yourself, for getting here as quickly as you could, for helping out Jess' family."

"Yeah, well," Dean scuffed his boots on wooden step. "You're with Jess, so that makes her like family, you know? Besides, you think I'd leave you to deal with all this shit alone? You may have been back in the game recently, but you don't have nearly enough experience to take all this on, College Boy. Someone's got to look after your ass."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, hefting the heavy bag onto his shoulder. Sam was definitely in over his head; he felt it every day, every mile, and every page of Bobby's books. But Dean would always be there to see him through it. And Sam was just starting to appreciate exactly how much that meant.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Dean was putting some time in for target practice when Dylan found him. Not that he really needed it, but he knew Jess had been practicing lately, and he was damned if she was going to suddenly be better than him at it. She had already shown her upper hand at knife-throwing and Dean figured he needed something to gloat about.

"Hey," he greeted Dylan casually as he zipped his coat up further. Damn, it was cold.

"Hey," Dylan frowned.

Dean could feel the teen angst pouring off the boy, but let him sweat it out. Instead, he focused on shooting a neat row of bullets in the tin cans nailed to the log. Bobby's shooting range was makeshift, that's for sure, but it was the only one available so it would have to do.

"Jess won't let me join you," Dylan finally grumbled, kicking at the dirt.

"Well, I can see why," Dean snorted. "No offense, kid, but you'd be nothing by a liability on the road with us."

"Not if you teach me," Dylan insisted, pimply chin jutting out.

He looked so stubborn and so sure of himself and so _young_. All Dean could think of was himself at seventeen, and _Damn, John, what were you thinking letting a kid like this out on hunts with you?_

"You're too young," Dean grunted. "And before you give me any crap about what Jess got to do when she was your age, know that that excuse doesn't work on me. You're seventeen; you haven't finished high school. Where we're going is no place for you."

Dylan, surprisingly, took Dean's lecture well. "Okay, say I turn eighteen and I've graduated. Then, can I join you?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean snorted. "Jess'll kill me if I say yes to that. I know how older siblings think. Besides, even if you're old enough, that doesn't cover the whole experience problem. I won't take anyone green with us, regardless of age."

"So then teach me," Dylan insisted. "And I'll learn from Bobby when you're gone. Dean, you have to understand, man. She's my sister."

And that, Dean couldn't refuse.

"You can't tell Jess I did this, okay?" he spoke, glancing reflexively over his shoulder. "She'll freaking tear my head off."

"Dude, I can't believe you're scared of my sister," Dylan chortled.

"So are you," Dean returned flatly. Then he switched his grip on his gun, handing it out to Dylan. "Take it," he commanded.

Dylan stretched out his hand tentatively. It dropped as he took hold of the gun, no doubt surprised by the weight.

"Two hands," Dean instructed him quietly. "This isn't one of your rap music videos; you'll need both arms for the recoil and aim." Dean tapped Dylan's arms and shoulders, correcting the teen's grip and position. "Bend your knees a little," he instructed, "it'll help your balance. Don't lean backwards; you can't be afraid of the gun. Okay, good, take the shot."

Dylan pulled the trigger, stumbling backwards immediately after with arms flying to his ears to block the sound.

"Not bad!" Dean clapped his hand of Dylan's shoulder as the boy squinted at the can he had been aiming for.

"I didn't hit it," he observed moodily.

"Yeah, but you stayed upright, didn't you? And you didn't drop the gun. For a first time, I think you did pretty well."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And this time, you'll know what to expect. So take another shot."

They stayed at Bobby's for another week. Nicole had wanted them to stay until Christmas, but Jess as refused gently. Although she wanted to stay with her family to make sure they were safe, staying in one place for too long, even if it was Bobby's, wasn't a good idea. Also, they couldn't make any progress with finding the demon if they didn't try to track down any new information.

In the days leading up to their departure, Nicole took over Bobby's kitchen, baking a year's supply of chocolate chip cookies for the road as well as cooking increasingly elaborate dishes for meal-times. Bobby, surprisingly, took the kitchen coup well. The only hesitation he showed was the night before Sam, Dean, and Jess' departure when Nicole had cooked a full-out roast chicken dinner, complete with a slightly yellowed tablecloth and candles on the table.

He froze, staring at the table setting. "I haven't seen those in a long time," he croaked.

"I found them in the linen cupboard," Nicole explained. "I hope it's okay to use them. I just figured with the kids not being here for Christmas in a couple weeks…"

"No, it's fine." Bobby straightened his hat and then plunked down in the nearest chair. "It looks nice. Let's eat."

That night, they all stayed up late packing and preparing for the trip ahead.

They had decided, with no real reason, to go to Oklahoma first. Well, South Dakota in December hadn't been a treat for any of them, so heading south did seem like a good option, and Oklahoma was pretty direct, so that played into it a bit, but none of them thought that Guthrie was any more likely to produce answers than the other locations on the lists they owned. The Winchesters' father had pinpointed the area for demonic omens in the 70s, and Jess' father had a kid named Andrew Gallagher on his list of nursery fire victims, so it seemed like a fair bet.

Dean consented to switch drivers every few hours so they could make better time, but more often than not, they somehow found themselves in the familiar configuration of Dean in the driver's seat, Sam in the passenger's, and Jess in the back.

"It's completely unfair," Jess grumbled from her usual spot. She had taken to sitting in the middle of the backseat so she still had a clear view of the road ahead.

"What?" Dean grunted, tilting his head to get a better look at her.

"If he's just going to take a nap, he might as well have let me sit in the front," Jess explained, pointing to a deeply sleeping Sam in the passenger seat.

Dean grinned. "Watch this." He reached to the floor of the car where their lunch wrappers had been stowed. With careful precision, he inserted the spoon into Sam's mouth. Sam slept on, oblivious.

Jess rolled her eyes. "Real mature, Dean." But, okay, it actually did look a little funny.

Dean pulled out his phone and, continuing to spare glances to the road, took a picture of Sam with the plastic spoon dangling from his mouth. A twist of the volume dial of the radio made Sam jerk upright and yank the spoon from his mouth.

Dean laughed delightedly as Sam shot a disgruntled look in his direction.

"Ha ha, very funny," Sam complained.

"I thought so," Dean shrugged.

"Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not gonna start that crap up again."

"What crap?" Jess asked, her interest perked

"That prank stuff," Sam replied. "And, by the way, where were you when my brother was shoving cutlery down my mouth?"

"Stuck in the backseat like I always am," she shot back. "I figure you can defend yourself against plastic spoons, Sam."

Her boyfriend scowled back at her. "Well, we're not doing it," Sam decided, turning to Dean. "It's stupid, and it always escalates."

"Oh, what's the matter, Sammy," Dean grinned, "you afraid you're gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?"

Sam's frown smoothed out to stony determination. "All right," he agreed. "Just remember you started it."

"For the record," Jess announced, "I have nothing to do with this. In the great Prank War, I am Switzerland. I won't interfere, and I won't be targeted."

"It's not a war, Jess, it's a competition," Dean lectured her. "Full of its own honour code and ritual."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Whoever's left standing wins."

"What, you don't believe me, Sam? Fine, we'll make it more official this time. We'll have a judge." He nodded back to where Jess was sitting.

"Dean, she said she's out of it," Sam reminded him.

"What does the judge get to do?" Jess asked, intrigued.

"Be the final word on who's the best. But you have to be objective," he told her sternly. "No letting Sammy win in exchange for sexual favours."

"I handle that," Jess agreed. "Let's see… For this one, I'd give you two points, Dean."

"Only two?" he whined.

"Sure. It was funny, I'll give you that, and it had the element of surprise. But I have pictures of Sam that are far more embarrassing on my cell phone, so you don't earn an awful lot."

"Fine," Dean grumbled.

Sam frowned. "What sort of pictures?"

They arrived in Guthrie late at night, all three of them exhausted from the long drive. Jess fell asleep instantly and didn't wake until the room's clock radio dragged her from a dream that featured Sam dressed as a Mitch Buchannon. Not because she had a thing for David Hasslehoff. It was because… Whatever, she didn't get to finish the dream anyway.

Sam immediately rolled out of bed and started getting dressed while Dean claimed the bathroom.

"I'll grab us some breakfast," Sam announced, lacing his shoes. "You want to join me?"

"I want at least another hour of sleep," Jess complained.

"Would you settle for a large coffee?" Sam bent down to give her a quick kiss and Jess grunted an affirmative.

The door shut behind Sam, and Jess groaned as she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. She was being snippy, she knew, and yeah, she was a little PMS-y, although there was no way she was admitting that out loud with Dean in earshot. On top of all that, she was getting sick of the cramped rooms.

Their budget was sparse, and it simply didn't make sense to constantly get two rooms when all they really needed was one. And sure, she knew that if she and Sam wanted any alone time, they could get their own space occasionally, but that was the equivalent of them dropping Dean a memo every time they had sex. Or a little hand-made card like the ones her mother had really gotten into making a few years ago. Nicole had stamps and stickers and different kinds of paper and she would write personalized messages inside for her friends. Jess could imagine the messages she would write to Dean right now:

"_Just to let know… Your brother and I are having sex."_

"_Thank you… For putting up the extra charge to the credit card so Sam and I can get it on in privacy."_

"_Congratulations!...On finding someone to go home with tonight. Sam and I are going to take advantage of the empty room you left." _

God, she was getting ridiculous. Anyway, she did like having Dean with them most of the time. He felt like a big brother, ribbing and obnoxiousness included. He was one of those people that filled up the whole room, wherever he was. This room, for example: They had been in the room for maybe two waking hours, and already Dean had dirty laundry strewn everywhere, an unmade bed, boots kicked onto the floor, and a gun stashed under his pillow.

A cheerful ring came from the bedside table, jarring Jess' drowsy mind. Dean's cellphone, of course, was also left out.

Jess pushed herself up, debating what she should do. Sam was gone, and there was no way Dean could hear the phone over the shower. He could deny it all he wanted; she knew he sang in the shower.

The call could be important, though, and if it was someone like Bobby, Jess didn't want to worry him for no reason. Reaching over, she flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?"

The drag of someone inhaling crackled over the phone, and then a deep, rich voice answered her.

"Who is this? Where's Dean?"

"I'm… a friend of his," she replied carefully. No way was she giving away more than that to a stranger on the phone. "Who is this?"

"Put Dean on the phone," the man growled. "I need to talk to him." The voice was strained with worry as it came over the phone this time, which was the key Jess needed to identify the man.

"You're John Winchester," she breathed. "We've been searching for you."

There was a startled pause.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"I'm Jessica," she stammered. "Your son—Sam and I, we're…"

"You're the girlfriend," John completed flatly.

"Yeah." She nodded futilely, the phone pressed tight against her cheek. "How did you…"

"Dean mentioned you in a voicemail."

"Oh. Look, Mr. Winchester, we're been looking for you since the start of November. Are you okay?" It felt so surreal, to be talking to him on the phone. Their search couldn't possibly end this easily, could it?

"I'm fine," John spoke, giving nothing else up.

"…okay. Is there anything we can do to… help you? Or could we meet up with you? I don't know how much Dean's told you, but—"

"The only thing you can do for me, Jessica," John enunciated coldly, "is stay the hell away from my sons."

Jess blinked. "Um, what?"

"You're a danger to them and I want you as far away as possible."

"That's not true," she insisted, trying to ignore the anxious flush that was flooding her cheeks. "Sam and Dean and I, we're in this together. You can't just tell me to leave. I won't."

"You have no say over the safety of my sons," John snapped. "I'm their father and—"

A damp hand yanked the phone out of her grasp. Dean, apparently finished with his shower early, pressed the phone to his ear.

"Dad?" Dean gasped. "Are you okay? Are you—" His face smoothed out as he sat on the edge of his bed with the motel towel wrapped around his waist. "Yes, sir. No, I understand. Yeah, we have some stuff from Jess' dad that we're looking into."

Jess shifted in her own bed, leaning closer to Dean. "What's he—"

Dean held up a hand, stopping her. A frown was reappearing on his face. "No, she's not—… Well, yeah, she's got demons on her ass, Dad, we all do! They want Sammy just as much as they want Jess. Look, tell us where you are, and… Fine, don't, then. No, sir. Yeah, I understand. Call us if… yeah."

Dean closed the phone, pressing it to his forehead as he exhaled slowly.

"What did he say?" Jess questioned.

"He's tracking down the demon," Dean replied heavily, avoiding her gaze. "He wants us to keep up the angle we've got going on here. As quietly as possible, of course. We've got to avoid detection and keep moving around as much as possible. Basic safety stuff when you have a pack of demons with a hit out on you.

"Does this mean I have to leave?" Jess asked hesitantly.

Dean winced. "God, Jess, no, I—Dad… just doesn't understand. How could he? He hasn't talked to Sam in four years; he's never seen you. Look, you're sort of like family, okay? And that means I'll always look out for you, no matter what."

"Thanks, Dean." She smiled at him. "The same goes for you, you know."

Then she couldn't help it; she giggled.

"What?" Dean grumped.

"It's just…" she let out a snort. "This whole scene would be a lot more touching if you were dressed in something other than a towel."

"Hey," he leered dramatically, "I've done better wearing far less."

"Go put some clothes on, Dean. The 'family' moment just got awkward."

Grinning, he grabbed a pile of clothes from him duffle and strutted to the bathroom.

Jess rolled her eyes at the closed door. Huge bravado and inappropriateness aside… God help her, she actually did like the man.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has left reviews and added me to their alerts. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Sam had stated dating Jess, it was the first time he had a distraction big enough to take his attention away from school, which, in itself, was a distraction to keep him from thinking about his family. Regardless, he had spent two weeks mooning over Jess and had completely forgotten about a Psych paper until the day before it was due. Unfortunately, it was the type of assignment where the whole class basically had the same topic, so Sam had spent a very frustrating day in the library flipping through the picked-over collection and trying to find enough information to scrape together a passable paper.

Their day in Guthrie had reminded Sam very much of that horrific library-bound day. The problem was, they couldn't just outright ask the questions they wanted answers to. So instead, they prodded, left hints, and manipulated in any way they could to steer their interviewees in the right direction.

So far they had found out the following about Andrew Gallagher: Everyone called him Andy; he was adopted, birth mother unknown; his adopted mother died when he was just six months old from an electrical fire in his nursery; he was smart and friendly, although a little bit of a slacker; and he had recently had some trouble with creditors. Nothing indicated that he had had any dealings with demons or otherwise shifty looking people, and no one they talked to had mentioned any rumours surrounding his adoptive mother's death. But it was all cobbled together from the scraps of information they had rooted out from his neighbours, former teachers, and other acquaintances. They had yet to actually talk to Andy or Tracey, the girl he was currently dating.

Which lead them to the diner they were now entering. According to Mrs. Wisner, Andy's former English teacher, this is where Tracey worked.

They grabbed a seat, Sam and Jess sitting across from Dean like usual, and hadn't been sitting long when a young, pleasant-looking waitress greeted them.

"Can I get you started with some drinks?" she asked, pen hovering above the pad.

"Coke," Dean ordered shortly, nose already buried in the menu.

"Just water for me," Jess spoke, face tightly pinched.

"I'll have water as well," Sam decided. "Thank you…" he glanced down to check her nametag, and blinked in surprise. "Tracey."

Dean poked his head up from the menu.

"No problem," she smiled. As she made her way to the kitchen, the three hunters bent their head in at the table.

"She's the one we need to talk to," Sam announced.

"I'll go talk with her for a bit," Dean announced, standing up. "I'll feel her out and see if she'll talk about Gallagher with us."

As Dean went to talk with Tracey, and no doubt flirt shamelessly, Sam turned to his quiet girlfriend.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

"I'll survive," she grimaced, digging through her bag. She pulled out a bottle of Advil and shook a couple out onto her palm.

Sam frowned as she swallowed the pills dry. "Headache?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I've been blocking my psychic mojo all day," she confessed. "I think I'm getting better at it, Sam. But there're too many people in here," she explained, gesturing to the half-full room. "The customers and the staff all together are a little overwhelming."

"If you need to leave we can," Sam offered. "Dean can take care of Tracey on his own."

Jess shook her head. "No, I can do it. Just… maybe distract me with something?"

Sam spared a casual glance to where Dean was still chatting with Tracey, intent on his purpose.

"How about this?" Sam suggested. He grabbed the salt shaker from the table and unscrewed the cap, dumping the contents into the fold of his napkin. Then, he reached for the glass sugar container and filled the empty salt shaker with it. He replaced the cap and returned the salt shaker to its place beside the pepper.

"Not bad," Jess smiled. "How do you know he's going to use salt?"

"It's Dean," Sam snorted.

"Fair enough," she chuckled.

She seemed more relaxed, and Sam was relieved to see Tracey return with their drinks soon after.

Dean slid into the booth as Tracey set their three glasses on the table, and he tossed her a generous grin as he ordered his usual cheeseburger and fries.

Sam bit his cheeks to keep from laughing as he placed an order for some salad entrée. Dean might bug him for it, but this way Sam wouldn't draw any attention for not using salt. Jess only ordered soup, but shook off Sam's concerned glance so he didn't push it.

Tracey departed with their order, and Sam turned to his brother.

"So, what did she say?"

"Well, she's completely clueless about anything that might be helpful to us," Dean replied, leaning against the back of their booth. "But, she did tell me that Andy usually stops by and visits her near the end of her shift."

"And that is…"

"In about an hour," Dean grinned.

"Dean, you're my hero," Jess declared. "I love it when we have a plan that involves us sitting and eating."

"You're a girl after my own heart, Jess." Dean raised his coke, and Jess clinked her water glass against it.

"So what's our game plan for when we meet Andy?" Sam wondered.

"Stick to our story," Dean shrugged taking a gulp from his drink. "I told Tracey we were reporters looking to do a story on adults who were adopted as children."

"Same thing we told everyone else," Jess nodded.

It was probably the best idea. In a town this small, it wouldn't take much for word to spread and if they used conflicting stories, they could get in a lot of trouble.

"How's your head, Jess?" Sam asked gently.

"I'll live," she grimaced.

"What's up?" Dean replaced his glass and studied Jess with concern.

"It's nothing," she growled. "It's just a lot of people, and it's making my creepy radar go haywire. I'm picking up anger, and nervousness, and happiness all in one jumbled heap. Plus, there's someone in here that's _way_ too horny to be allowed out in public. Seriously, why would you walk into a diner feeling like that?"

"Jess, do you want to head back to the motel?" Sam resisted the urge to touch her, remembering what she had once said about physical contact making her powers stronger.

She squeezed her eyes shut and kneaded her temples.

"No, I can handle it," she ground out. "I'm not gonna be a liability to you guys."

"Jess—"

Before Sam could continue, Tracey appeared with their ordered items.

"Careful," she cautioned Dean. "That plate's real hot."

"Thanks," he smiled distractedly before returning his frown to Jess.

"Jess, you're not a liability," Sam told her as soon as Tracey had left. "We talked about it this morning. You're not going anywhere."

Although she hadn't mentioned it, he knew that her conversation with his father was still hanging over her. He couldn't blame Jess for that. If a man like John Winchester tells you to do something, the natural instinct is to obey. It wasn't until years of bitter resentment had built up that Sam had switched to automatically saying no to everything his father asked.

"If you go, I'll have to put up with Sam moping around everywhere and I just can't cope with that, Jess," Dean told her, shaking salt onto his fries.

Sam kept his mouth shut, watching in satisfaction as Dean blithely returned the rigged shaker to the table.

"You've got to stay with him and diffuse some of the emo," Dean continued. He grabbed a fry, dunked it in ketchup, and popped it in his mouth.

Sam laughed as Dean gagged and spat the fry out into his napkin.

"Yes!" Sam crowed, throwing a fist in the air.

"This was you?" Dean growled, taking a large gulp of coke.

"I've told you before that you ought to lay off the French fries," Sam grinned, taking a victory sip. Best of all, Jess was smiling, distracted for the time being.

"That's worth about four points," she announced.

"What?" Dean complained.

"If you think you can do better, show me," she shrugged.

Sam frowned, not liking where this was going. "Dean, I think we created a monster."

"Stop being a pansy, Sam." Dean commanded. "And go order me some new fries."

They finished the rest of their meal at a leisurely pace. Dessert was ordered, although Jess declined, opting to hug a cup of hot tea instead.

Sam was starting to wonder if Andy would actually show up when a short, sloppily dressed man strolled into the diner. Sam recognized him from the pictures they had been shown throughout the day, and Andy's identity was confirmed when he walked over to Tracey and gave her a distracted kiss.

"Here we go," Jess whispered, straightening in her seat.

Tracey was speaking to Andy, and pointed to their booth. Andy blinked lazily at them, and then wandered in their direction.

"Hey, guys. 'Sup?" he drawled. Now that he was closer, Sam was able to detect the underlying odour of marijuana, something he had grown all too familiar with during his stay in the Stanford dorms. Andy stood in front of the booth, eyes roaming loosely with large pupils between the three of them.

"Mr. Gallagher, we're with _Adoption News Quarterly_," Dean schmoozed. "And we're writing a story on adults who have been adopted and the successful lives they're living now."

"And you want to interview me?" Andy frowned. He plopped down on the seat next to Dean.

"Why wouldn't we?" Jess questioned.

"Well, it's just that my life isn't exactly what you would call successful," he confessed. "I'm unemployed, I'm not in school or anything, I've got creditors knocking down my door, and I'm about to be evicted."

"Oh," Sam blinked. "Well, you have Tracey."

"For now," Andy shrugged. "But look at her. Do you think she's gonna want to spend the rest of her life with a college dropout who's two weeks away from living out of a van?" Although it was a depressing future, Andy didn't seem overly morose about it. Maybe it was the effect of the weed.

"Well, I'm sure you can turn your life around," Jess spoke uncomfortably. "Your high school teachers told us you're very bright."

"Yeah, I'll work it out somehow," Andy agreed. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a complete downer."

"It's fine," Dean told him. "Look, Mr. Gallagher. Andy. Has anything happened to you recently that's… different? Something you didn't expect?"

"What do you mean?" Andy frowned.

"Just something to add a little flavour to our piece," Sam jumped in. "We've got plenty of information on your life from other people in the town, but we'd like to add a personal anecdote if we could."

"It can be anything," Jess prodded. "Even if it doesn't seem to carry a lot of significance to you. An interesting encounter with a stranger, perhaps."

Andy hesitated.

"Look, if this thing makes it to print, we'll cut you a cheque," Dean pushed.

The lie made Sam uncomfortable, but he knew it was more important to get Andy to talk.

"Well, I don't know if it's the kind of thing you'd be interested in," Andy began slowly.

"Yes?" Sam encouraged.

"Well, yesterday I was talking with this real bitch from the bank. She was getting real nasty, too, threatening to visit or whatever. But then all of a sudden, she just… stopped. Told me to have a nice day and hung up."

"Really?" Dean frowned.

"That's what happened. Weird, huh?"

"Definitely weird," Sam agreed, feeling disappointed regardless.

"Well, thank you for your time." Jess offered her hand to Andy and he shook it.

"So, you'll let me know about the article?" he asked as he stood.

"We'll give you a call," Dean assured.

"Awesome." Andy wandered off as Sam turned to Dean and Jess.

"Dammit," Jess muttered.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Nothing to go off of there. Guy's got a crappy life, but nothing demonic about him."

"You don't think that creditor…?"

"Not exactly the kind of omen we're looking for, Sam," Dean told him. "Sure, those bank guys can be relentless most of the time, but just because one person lets someone go, it's not a sign of something evil at work. Chances are it was her lunch break and she was hungry."

"Yeah," Sam agreed reluctantly.

"So where do we go from here?" Jess wondered. "Stick around town a little more? Or try to find the next name on the list?"

"Well, just because Andy hasn't come into contact with any demons doesn't mean that he's not part of this," Sam hypothesized. "The only reason why a demon came after us was because they didn't want us dating. If I were a big bad demon, I would want to keep as many people in a state of ignorance as possible."

"Okay," Dean agreed. "So I'm an evil son-of-a-bitch with a mysterious master plan. I keep everyone on sleeper-cell mode unless they do something to piss me off, like start dating each other. Then, I take them out as quickly as possible to avoid problems."

"It makes sense," Jess nodded.

"So, what, this is just a dead end? We pack up and head off?" Dean wondered.

"Maybe," Sam shrugged.

"If we stay here, we risk drawing attention to ourselves and Andy," Jess pointed out. "We don't want to put him in danger."

Dean nodded in agreement. "We should check out some more names on that list," he advised. "We can't tell if it's a pattern just based off one guy." Taking out his wallet, he threw a few bills onto the table and then stood. "C'mon, we should get back to the motel room and figure out our next move."

When they returned to the motel, Sam and Dean went right into full-out research mode. They dug through and compared between Moore and Winchester journals, trying to find common names, locations, and dates.

Jess couldn't bring herself to be as enthusiastic about the whole thing. Their visit to Guthrie had told them basically nothing, and she was starting to get discouraged. There was only so much their limited information could tell them, and the more they dug around, the more confusing everything seemed to get. The names they put together were a rough list, and some of the information was decades old. There was no clear answer to where they should go next.

"Dude, we're not going up to Michigan," Dean was complaining. "If you wanted to check out the Miller guy, you should have said something before we drove all the way down here. Gas is expensive, you know. Let's look into Talley. At least he was born closer."

"He may have moved, Dean," Sam pointed out.

"Well then, college kid, why don't you use some of those brains you're so proud of and find out?" Dean hefted Sam's laptop onto his brother's lap. Although the machine was used almost equally by both Dean and Sam, Jess having her own, it was still allocated as belonging to Sam. With a pout, Sam opened it and flicked the power on.

The flash of heated embarrassment upon viewing the monitor caught Jess' attention faster than Sam's facial expression.

"Dean!" He flushed, pushing the laptop away from him.

Dean cackled. "What's wrong, Sammy? I'm just trying to make that ugly lump of plastic a little more classy."

"Classy?" Sam choked.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, Jess made her way over to peek at Sam's monitor.

"There's no way those things are real," she remarked blandly.

"Not the point, Jess," Dean crowed.

"It won't let me change it," Sam complained, clicking furiously. "Dean, we have to take this thing out in public; tell me how to change it back."

"Which do you think makes for a better desktop wallpaper, Sam? Some generic sunset crap or a work of art from _Busty Asian Beauties_? You should be thanking me."

"Dean!"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a knot, I'll fix it later, I promise." He smirked, and then turned to Jess. "So, Jess? What's the verdict?"

"That's worth a solid eight," she decided. "Especially because you used some serious computer knowledge I didn't even know you had. What'd you do to keep him from changing it? Some sort of password lock?"

"If I said, then he'd know how to fix it," Dean taunted.

"Bite me," Sam snapped back, still trying to fix his computer.

"Still, now that we know what you're capable of, there's no way you're getting away with dumping all the boring research on us," Jess goaded.

Dean's face fell. "Crap."

After that, the rest of the night was pretty much a bust, no one wanting to concentrate on the frustrating research that lay ahead. Dean ran out and got some beers and junk food and they spent the evening watching crappy horror movies and pointing out all the anomalies. Sam super-glued Dean's hand to a beer bottle, and Dean managed to surprise Sam with a joy buzzer three separate times, a feat which became progressively easier as their blood-alcohol level increased. Jess enjoyed the show, egging the brothers on however she could and scoring the pranks appropriately.

At the end of the night, she collapsed in bed, barely sparing enough energy to fling an arm over Sam before falling soundly asleep.

It couldn't have been more than a few hours later when she awoke suddenly, hands shaking and heart pounding violently in her chest. Gasping for breath, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She couldn't seem to shake the icy terror that was thrumming through her body. But she hadn't been dreaming; she hadn't heard any strange sounds. What had made her so—

One glance at Sam, and she understood. He was shaking in his sleep, head twitching back and forth. She was picking up on his dreams, apparently.

"Sam," she whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Wake up, you're dreaming."

His eyes snapped open, and he flung himself upright, panting. He blinked, trying to see in the dark.

"Jess?" She could feel him start to calm down, and she squeezed his hand to reassure him.

"You were having a dream," she spoke softly, trying to let Dean sleep.

"Yeah, I… Jess, it wasn't just any dream," Sam spoke urgently. "It was like the dreams I had of you before the demon attacked.

The cold fear that trickled down her spine was all hers this time. "You mean you think it's a premonition?" she hissed.

He nodded, swallowing nervously. "Yeah, I think so."

"Tell me about it," she demanded. "Who was in it this time?"

"I didn't recognize her," Sam shook his head. "She was in a house… Something was after her; she was in danger. And there was this tree…" He struggled with the covers, pushing them aside. Switching on their bedside lamp, he got up and crossed the room to the table where they had abandoned their research.

Dean grunted in the bed next to them and lifted his head. "Dude, what's going on?" he complained.

"Sam had another dream," Jess explained. "Like what he when he knew I was going to be attacked."

"What?" Dean demanded sharply, sitting up in bed.

"I should have expected it," Sam shrugged, yanking his father's journal out of the pile of papers and rifling through it. "Jess' thing isn't a one-time deal, why should mine be?"

"Yeah, but it's doesn't mean we should listen to it, Sam," Dean argued. "It's from a _demon_, we can't trust it."

"There," Sam announced, slapping a picture down on the end table between the two beds.

Jess recognized the man immediately as John Winchester. So then the little boy was Dean, the baby was Sam, and the blonde woman was Mary, the boys' mother. Jess swallowed down the lump in her throat, not really sure if the aching loss she felt was her own sense of sympathy, or borrowed emotion from the brothers.

"This picture was in front of our old house, right?" Sam asked Dean.

"Yeah," Dean replied cautiously.

"And they rebuilt the house after the fire, right?" Sam pushed further.

"I think so," Dean shrugged.

"That has to be the house I saw in my dream," Sam insisted. "And the woman who lives there now is in danger."

Dean pinched his eyes shut. "Sam…"

"Dean, I've already had one of these dreams come true. Trust me; I can feel the difference between this and a normal nightmare. We have to check this out. We have to go home."

Dean ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. He gritted his teeth and wiped his hands down his cheeks, nodding as they dropped into his lap.

"Okay," he agreed finally, his voice gravelly from sleep. "We'll go there."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks for all the continued support in the form of reviews and alerts. I very much appreciate it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

They never talked about it.

Oh, sure, growing up there were lots of over-used phrases chucked around the Impala like "the thing that killed Mom", "revenge", "the fire", and other stuff. But life before that terrifying night was locked securely in a glass cabinet. It was to be looked at from afar, abstractly; never to be taken out and examined in detail.

To Dean, it all existed like a crazy quilt of colourful scraps haphazardly stitched together with no discernable meaning. His favourite bowl made of red plastic; a friend, name forgotten, who had the best collection of Transformers on the block; the strong hands and stubbly chin of his father; and the long, soft blonde hair of his mother.

Dean was content with leaving those memories locked away. They were frustratingly imperfect, blurred by the lenses of an immature, self-centered perspective. Sure, he remembered how he actually believed Devon, the neighbourhood kid, when he told Dean that stepping on the cracks would break his mother's back. But the details his adult brain used to give reference to memories were completely lacking. For instance, he had a vague recollection of the street where they had lived, and hadn't had a clue of the actual address.

They had found out the name of the neighbourhood based off a newspaper article John had kept in his journal, and had found the house by driving around for several minutes, Sam clutching the picture of the tree in his hand the whole time. Dean remembered that tree in the same vague, overly bright way he remembered everything else. But in his childhood memory, it was fresh and whole, not the blackened carcass they found stuck in the ground outside the house.

Dean glared at the dead tree, hand tightening around the steering wheel. Why the hell was it still there? They had rebuilt the rest of the house, clearly, so what little bit of extra money could it have been to yank out the hideous eyesore in the front yard? For over twenty years, whatever _idiots_ owned the house had let the ugly thing spoil its image. It was a good house, why the hell would you leave such an ugly reminder in front of it?

"This is the house," Sam spoke unnecessarily. He seemed calm, which frustrated Dean even more.

Of course _Sam_ was calm; he was oblivious to everything this house meant. Sure, he heard about it, but he didn't remember. He hadn't seen all that Dean had seen that night…

Jess gave a choked gasp from the backseat, and Dean whipped around to glare at her.

"I thought you were supposed to keep out of my head?" he snapped.

"I—I tried!" she sputtered, wiping away a sudden flood of tears with a trembling hand. "It's just so strong, Dean, I can't block it out." A sob shuddered through her and she dropped her head to her hands.

"Dammit!" Dean shouted, smashing his hands against the steering wheel.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded, reaching a hand over the seat to comfort Jess.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it of any thought of that fire. Instead, he filled every crevice of his brain with the thought of Jane Canning from that weird town in Wyoming. She had legs that didn't stop, and her rack…

Jess chuckled wetly from the backseat. "Good to know you have your priorities straight, Dean."

"What happened?" Sam demanded. Because of course he just couldn't let one go.

"Dean was remembering," Jess explained. "It was that night you were remembering, right, Dean? When the demon came?"

"Yeah," Dean replied jerkily, straightening his jacket.

"Oh." Sam dropping his head, and although Dean wasn't the psychic one, he could have sworn he felt the waves of emo obsession regardless. "Look, maybe we shouldn't be taking this case. We can look up one of the other names on that list instead."

"Sam, is this the house you saw in your dream?" Dean cut in.

"Yeah," Sam replied cautiously.

"Well, we already know that those freaky-ass dreams of yours can come true. So we're not just going to walk away from some woman who's in danger cause I'm feeling a little sad, okay?" He jerked open the car door and put a foot outside. "C'mon. Let's do this."

Jess had gotten used to being a little bit of a third wheel at times while travelling with the brothers.

They had whole conversations just by facial expressions alone, they observed countless little rituals from who got what bed to who does what chores, and they even completed each other's sentences at times, a phenomenon that she never failed to tease them mercilessly about.

But ever since they got to Lawrence, actually, ever since Sam had that dream, Jess had felt like a voyeur prying into intimate family secrets where she most definitely did not belong. Her freaky psychic thing was definitely not helping things along. The emotions the boys were running through, especially Dean, were some of the most powerful ones she had come across. Any shoddy barriers she had made had crumbled long ago, and she was at the mercy of the ebb and flow of whatever crap was floating through the Winchester's heads.

Their visit with Jenny was hardly informative, based on the tangible evidence they had collected. Her complaints could mean a wide variety of supernatural problems, but could also be a result of rats chewing on the wires.

But Jess knew there was something deeper going on. As soon as she stepped into the house, she felt a sinister, lurking presence that seeped from every corner of the building. She had barely been able to concentrate during the interview, feeling a cold itch crawl over her skin the whole time.

Jess was left with a numbing headache when they left the building and had been forced to stay in the car while Sam and Dean interviewed the mechanic their father used to work with. That was probably all for the best. She didn't know if she could cope with the tangle of emotions that would result from the two of them visiting another member of their past. This trip was teaching her that even if an emotion was repressed, that didn't mean she couldn't feel it. In fact, it was almost stronger. The Winchesters hadn't talked much about visiting their home town, but Jess could feel the effect it was having on them.

Sam was a constant tremor of confused sadness, missing what his life could have been but, at the same time, not really understanding it. There was this _yearning_ to know more about his life here, but it was all useless, really; a pale smudge of what could have been.

Dean, on the other hand, was a wreck. Sure, he put on a brave face like he always did, but Jess could see everything swimming beneath it. To have seen what Dean did at such a young age had clearly left some deep scars and now it was like someone was trying to tear him apart by those same old fault lines. Jess wanted to be able to help him out somehow, but she was afraid that even a small nudge would make him shatter.

If it wasn't for that evil presence in the house, Jess would have demanded that they pack up and head out, vision or not. But there was no way she could leave that innocent family alone with whatever it was she had felt there.

Which was why they were now waiting in the office of a psychic to hopefully find out more information. The constant barrage of Winchester angst was increasing her headache, so Jess passed the time and crowded out the invading emotions by thinking of what she would call herself if she ever set up shop as a psychic. She had the powers after all, although she doubted Missouri got her abilities from demon blood. "Jessica Moore" had more of a girl next door ring to it rather than a powerful psychic vibe, so she would have to change it. The "Magical Moore"? "Jazzy Jess"?

Thankfully, the professional psychic entered the room, putting a stop Jess' musings.

"All right, there. Don't you worry 'bout a thing," she reassured her customer. "Your wife is crazy about you." The man waved, and exited her house before Missouri turned the three hunters in her waiting room. "Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin' the gardener."

Jess choked in surprise. So far, Missouri was not really what she expected.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Dean asked, frowning.

"People don't come here for the truth. They come for good news." Missouri shrugged.

And uncomfortable silence grew. Jess knew that they were unlikely to get happy answers to the questions they were going to ask.

"Well? Sam and Dean, Jess, come on already, I ain't got all day." She turned abruptly and returned to her back room. After a confused moment, Jess, Sam, and Dean followed her. "Well, lemme look at ya," she ordered once they had joined her. She peered up at Sam and Dean, squinting her eyes slightly to observe them. "Oh, you boys grew up handsome," she decided. "And you were one goofy looking kid," she pointed at Dean. "And your girlfriend, Sam." She reached over and squeezed Jess' hand. "You are a beauty, aren't you, dear? Although… What you two are mixed up in…" she shuddered. "Just be glad the Good Lord gave you more gifts than just your looks. And your father—he's missing?"

"How'd you know all that?" Sam asked in wonder.

"Well, you were just thinkin' it just now," Missouri explained.

"Well, where is he? Is he okay?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know," the psychic replied simply.

"Don't know?" Dean pushed roughly. "Well, you're supposed to be a psychic, right?"

"Boy, you see me sawin' some bony tramp in half?" Missouri snapped. "You think I'm a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can't just pull facts out of thin air. You think you'd know that, living with a psychic of your own." She nodded at Jess. "Now, I'll tell you everything you want to know about your house and your father, but you best run off back to your car and get all your papers together. No point going through what you already know."

Jess went to follow the boys, but was stopped by Missouri.

"No, you sit, honey. We need to have a chat. You boys take your time." She waited until the Winchesters had left the room before she continued. "Jessica, you can't keep going on like you have," she told the younger girl gently.

"I'm fine," Jess insisted automatically. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Honey," Missouri looked at her pityingly. "Here: take my hand and just relax."

Frowning, Jess reached out and grasped Missouri's hand, relaxing into… into glorious nothing. It wasn't until the blissful silence descended that Jess realized just how crowded her brain had been. Missouri let go and Jess instantly felt the buzz of the Winchesters tickling the back of her brain again. She could sense Missouri's presence, too, although it was a placid lake in comparison to the torrential Winchester rapids.

"How did you do that?" Jess demanded, craving that calm as soon as it was yanked away from her. She had completely forgotten what it was like to be all alone inside her head.

"I practice," Missouri explained patiently. "Something you've been unwisely neglecting."

"I'm not like you," Jess explained. "What I can do isn't good. I don't want to use my powers. I can't."

"Honey, regardless of the source of your powers, they're _your_ powers. You got to take some responsibility. Right now, you're soaking up anything that comes within your radar and you _cannot_ let that continue. I'm not saying you need to build them up and use them all the time. But if you don't try to get some small amount of control over them, they'll start to control you."

"How?" Jess questioned miserably.

"You have to start by focusing," Missouri explained simply. "You can't possibly block out everything, not at first. But if you can pick one signal to hone in on, then you can turn down everything else."

"Like a radio station?"

"Sure."

"So, I have to pick another person?" she clarified.

"Yes. And you should ask that person for permission first, honey. If you've got your radar tuned to that one person, you're gonna pick up on a lot that you wouldn't normally. Not everyone's comfortable with giving up that much privacy."

"I'll ask Sam," Jess decided. With the way her life was going now, he was really her only option. There was no way she was tuning into Dean's channel.

"He's a good boy," Missouri agreed. "If you two stick together, along with Dean, you'll be just fine.

If it was any other case, they would be on the road by now. After leading them in the most violent cleansing ritual Sam had ever experienced, Missouri swore that the house had been purified of the poltergeist, and she was a professional, after all. But they had never pretended that this was a normal case, so that was why they were still sitting in the Impala watching the house and making sure the occupants were still safe.

"You're sure we have to stay here?" Dean complained from the driver's seat.

"I have a bad feeling," Sam replied shortly, not taking his eyes off the house.

"Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over. Jess? You've got the psychic thing, too. You picking up on anything?"

"I don't know, Dean," Jess replied from the backseat. "Missouri's a lot more experienced than me."

"Speaking of which…" Sam took his eyes away from the house to look at his girlfriend. "What did she talk to you about when she sent us out?"

Jess shrugged, tracing her finger along the stitching of the seat. "How to control it better," she finally replied. "I've been having some… problems lately. The whole blocking-out thing hasn't really worked. Especially with you two."

"So what was her advice?" Dean asked.

"Pick one person and focus on them," Jess explained. "That way it's easier to block out the others and eventually I'll be able to do that without focusing on one person."

"Oh, I am so not being your little pet guinea pig. That's definitely the boyfriend's job, Sam."

Jess grimaced, but looked at Sam in a way that told him she didn't have any other options.

"So, how does it work?" Sam asked in defeat.

"I don't really know," Jess shrugged. "I can distinguish between you and Dean already, so I guess it's just a matter of paying attention to you and ignoring Dean. So, really, it's what I do anyway."

"Cute," Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's only temporary, Sam. And I'll keep out of your head as much as possible."

"Doesn't sound like you're going to be able to do very much of that," Sam grumbled. "Basically, you're going to be listening to me round the clock as much as you can." He was already imagining the hundreds of little thoughts that flicker through his head that he'd rather keep private. He didn't really relish the idea of Jess knowing every single time he had to go to the bathroom, or if he happened to get irritated when she riffled through his duffle and got his shirts all wrinkled.

"Yeah, I guess so," Jess deflated.

"Jess, it's not that I want to hide stuff from you," Sam explained. "It's just… that's not a lot of privacy, you know? You'd basically be witnessing every little thought that goes through my head. And, yeah, I know you don't hear the words, but the emotion behind it is even more telling."

"I'm sorry," Jess whispered.

"Hey, it's okay." Sam reached over the seat to give her his hand. "You know I'll help you in any way I can. Just… don't hate me too much if you catch something you don't like every once in a while."

"Sam, there's no way you're going to scare me off," Jess promised. "And if you ever want some alone time just let me know, okay? I can take a break or something. Focus on Dean for a bit."

But Dean was too distracted to respond. "Guys," he spoke urgently. "Look in the upstairs window. It's Jenny."

Sam glanced up and froze when he saw Jenny pounding on the window. "That's exactly what I dreamed."

Dean was already halfway out of the car. "We got to go. You guys get the kids, I'll get Jenny."

As they raced towards the house, Sam cursed himself for letting this happen. Why had they left the house in the first place? Sam knew all along that it wasn't over yet. There was something in this house that drew him in still, making him curious and worried all at once.

He wasted no time getting up to Ritchie's room and grabbing the boy. Jess met them in the hallway with Sari. Flames licked the threshold of the girl's room, but Jess grabbed Sam's arm before he could get a good look.

"We've got to get out of here!" she reminded him. She pulled him down the stairs, both of them carrying a child each. They were within feet of the entrance, but Sam couldn't bring himself to leave the house just yet.

"Take Ritchie." Sam passed the toddler off to Jess without waiting for a response. "Get them out of here."

"Sam, what the hell—"

An invisible force pulled at his ankles, knocking him over and dragging him across the floor. Before he could catch his breath, Sam was slammed against a wall. His head collided with the drywall and made a dull thunk. White pain exploded in the back of his retinas. Then, he was flung against the cabinet, down to the floor, and then back up against the wall, not ever allowed to recover enough to start to fight back. It was choking him, and Sam was held motionless, unable to stop it.

A flaming figure appeared at the edge of Sam's darkening vision. Based off what he knew, he should be afraid of this new arrival. But something about it seemed familiar. The pressure on his throat eased, and although he still couldn't move, he could breathe easier.

"Sam?" The voice of his brother was barely audible over the roar of the flames and the pounding in his eardrums, but there was no way Sam could have missed it.

Dean stepped into view with Jess hot on his trail. He took one look at the flaming spirit and raised his salt gun.

"No, don't!" Sam shouted.

"What? Why?" Dean demanded.

"Because I know who it is," Sam realized. "I can see her now."

And just as he said it, the flames faded and Mary Winchester appeared before them, almost identical to the way she was pictured in the photo folded in Sam's pocket.

The gun in Dean's hand trembled and dropped. "Mom?" he asked quietly.

"Dean." Mary smiled at him.

She walked towards Sam, and for the first time in his life, Sam got what Dean and his dad were always going on about.

His _mom_ was there, and she was looking right at him. Sam had never felt that sort of love just pouring out of a person and washing over him. He wanted to drink it in forever and ever. Then she said his name, and it was like she was looking at everything he was and everything he ever could be and loving him because of and in spite of all of it. And then, she ruined it all.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

Sam _knew_ what she was talking about then. It was the demon, just like it always was. He didn't know how it all worked out, but somehow she was wrapped up in all of it and it made the taste in his mouth go horribly sour.

But before he could ask her, or demand to know what she meant, she had turned away from them all.

"You get out of my house," she spoke to the malevolent spirit. "And let go of my son." Fire crept up from her toes, devouring her entire figure once again. It burned so hot and bright that Sam had to force himself to look away.

As the heat faded, Sam dropped from the wall, finally in control of his body again.

Their mother was gone, along with the other presence, and Sam felt quiet peacefulness settle over the house in a way he hadn't felt since their arrival.

Although he knew she was gone, Sam couldn't help himself from looking around the room, hoping to see some sign that his mother was still there somehow. But, no such sign appeared.

"Now it's over," he announced quietly.


	9. Chapter 9

They had left Kansas as quickly as possible. Neither Winchester wanted to discuss what had happened in that house. Dean simply pointed the car in one direction and kept driving, not stopping to consider where they were headed until they were a full day away from Lawrence.

Sam was strangely adamant about their next destination.

"We have to go to Michigan," he insisted. "I really want to check out this Miller kid."

"Why?" Dean asked sharply. "You didn't have another vision, did you?"

"No."

"Sam…"

"He didn't, Dean," Jess stepped in. She would definitely know if he had. Although she still had a hard time focusing on Sam the way Missouri wanted her to, there was no way she would have missed the pain and terror one of his visions brought.

"I just have a feeling, okay?" Sam persisted.

"What, like a creepy psychic feeling or a gut-instinct feeling?"

"I don't know! Just a 'let's go to Saginaw' feeling. It's not like we have any other leads that are more promising."

Jess could feel the pull that Sam was talking about. It was a steady, urgent tug that dragged whenever Miller's name was mentioned. She was practically dancing on the spot with the urge to _move _whenever she felt it.

Dean, on the other hand, dug his heels in even further whenever the subject of Sam's hunch came up. Jess could feel the bubbling of his fear and uncertainty about the whole issue, but she tried to block it out. As much as she wanted to figure out what had Dean so freaked, she needed to get better control of her radar, so she concentrated harder on Sam.

Other than a bad feeling in Dean's gut, there was really no reason not to go to Saginaw and check out Max Miller, so that's where they headed.

On the trip, Jess practiced strengthening her connection to Sam. She knew physical contact helped, so she started hold hands with Sam practically everywhere they went. It reminded her of those overly-clingy couples that overpopulated the Stanford campus, but it made her psychic connection much stronger, so she went with it.

The fact that they were practically living in the car with Dean proved to be a challenge. He scrambled the signal she was trying to get a hold of, and finally Sam suggested they take a day off so Jess could get a better handle on the whole thing.

Dean had stayed behind at the motel while Sam had driven Jess down a narrow country road until they were far out of town. They pulled to the side of the road, and Sam shut the car off.

"Should I try to think of something specific?" Sam asked her. "Would that make it easier for you to pick up on?"

Jess shook her head. "I can always tell if you're projecting something extreme," she told him. "It's the normal stuff I'm not getting. Just… think whatever you want, and I'll try to pick up on it."

"Okay." Sam offered her his hand, and she squeezed hold tightly. Closing her eyes, she settled in to concentrate.

Following Missouri's suggestions, she let her own thoughts fade in the background, not shoving them down, but rather letting them drift away. As she emptied herself, she was able to hear the burble of another consciousness; familiar, although not her own.

She followed the stream as it took twists and turns that she instantly recognized: a cold spray of fear for what they might find in Saginaw, a swirl of worry for the people they loved in danger, and the urgent undertow of desire to find the demon and end their troubles. She allowed the current to pull her steadily along, deeper and deeper, until she was immersed in the giant ocean of Sam.

Thoughts rushed past her so quickly and abstractly that words couldn't possibly catch them; memories dangled in front of her, ghostly and delicate. She caught scraps of Zeppelin song lyrics and quotes from Sartre floating in between a steady stream of physical sensations that pounded dully against her. She was drowning in the sensation, so she kicked violently and rose above the surface, panting in the clear, uncomplicated air.

"Jess! Are you okay?" Sam had his hands wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing them painfully in his worry.

The slight pain helped her to pull herself together. It gave Jess something of her own to focus on. "I'm fine ," she replied. "It was just really overwhelming to feel all of that at once. Jeez, Sam, do you really think _that_ much all the time? I could barely keep up."

Sam let go of her shoulders, bringing up one hand to rub the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah. I guess."

"No wonder you're so smart," Jess grumbled.

"So you… what? Heard my thoughts?"

"Not really. At least, not in a way that can be translated to words, although I think I felt your intent. I caught some scraps of stuff, and some physical sensation, too." She could also tell, even without the intense bond, that Sam was a little uncomfortable sharing that much with her. But he didn't pry any further or show any of that discomfort.

"You want to try it again?" he asked.

Wordlessly, she reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling back under the surface.

This time, it was easier to understand what she felt. She could sense Sam's fatigue and stiffness associated with the long days they had been pulling. The swirl of internal monologue wasn't as disorienting now that she could block out the rest. And it still wasn't in words that she was used to, but a combination of other senses as well. A picture of Dean, waiting for their return, the sensation of the road rumbling underneath the Impala, the taste of coffee on Sam's tongue. This time, she didn't feel the need to come up for air as much as she had before. But as she spent time connected with Sam, she sensed how his emotions felt tender and guarded. Sam had always been a private person, never wanting to share much about himself. This had been a huge concession on his part, and she should probably tread carefully.

She pulled away from him, physically and psychically.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I think I'm good for now. It'll be easier now that I know what it feels like. I think I could find it again. And I don't know about you, but I'm freezing my ass off sitting out here."

Sam reached for the ignition, but then stopped, letting his hand fall. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Well, you're supposed to be working on this, Jess, so tell me if I'm cold. You should be able to figure it out."

"All right," she agreed, letting herself dip back into what Sam was feeling, sorting quickly through the jumble until she found the information she was looking for. "How can you be fine?" she demanded. "It's freezing out here!"

"You California girls are just too delicate," Sam announced, starting the car.

"You _wish_ they all could—"

"Stop," Sam commanded. "If I let you quote the Beach Boys in here, Dean will somehow find out, and he'll never let us borrow the car again."

"Doesn't matter anyway," she shrugged. "You've got me, and that's all you'll ever need."

"That's all I could ever handle," Sam corrected, grinning over at her.

Sam and Jess had officially become more annoying now that Jess was focusing her mojo on her boy-toy. They had actually been pretty easy to live with before then. Dean would tactfully give them a night in their own motel room when they could afford it or when he had elsewhere to be, and they kept they kept their couple-y discussions, be it lovey sweet nothings or heated disagreements, to a minimum when he was present. But apparently things had changed now that Jess had taken up residence in Sam's head. Right now, they were sitting in the diner giving their order to the waitress, which would normally not be a big deal.

Yeah, that definitely wasn't the case anymore.

"I'm good with coffee," Sam refused.

"Seriously?" Jess snipped. "You're not doing this again, Sam, get yourself a damn sandwich at least."

The waitress blinked her mascara-heavy eyelashes as her pen paused.

"I don't want a sandwich, Jess," Sam rolled his eyes. "I already ordered what I want."

Jess heaved in a deep breath, and Dean jumped in to deflect before they started attracting attention.

"Just give us a club sandwich on brown," he told the woman. "If he doesn't eat it, I will." Once the waitress had left, he turned to the moody couple sitting across from him. "Seriously, what is wrong with you two?"

"I'm not that hungry," Sam shrugged.

"Yes, you are," Jess insisted. "And just because _you _happen to process stress by not eating doesn't mean I do. And if you don't eat a proper meal now, _I'll_ be the one eating my way through Dean's M&M stash in an hour."

Sam raised his eyebrows at her.

"Sam!" she all but shrieked.

"What?"

"It's not funny, stop being so damn cheerful about this."

"You'd rather I was irrationally moody like you?"

"Yes!" She paused. "Dammit."

"You want to get some air?" Sam suggested gently.

"Yeah," she replied, almost completely calm again. She slid out of the booth when Sam stood. "I'll be back soon. Thanks, Sam." She gave him a quick peck, and then turned to Dean. "Make sure he eats something if I'm not back soon enough," she ordered.

Dean stared at her as she walked out the restaurant.

"Dude." He turned to his brother. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shrugged and took a gulp of his coffee. "Sometimes Jess gets a little worked up over stuff and she needs someone to snap her out of it. Most of the time, if I call her on it, she'll bounce back. You've got to watch for the nostril flares, though. When those get going, she's really pissed and it's best to just stay out of her way."

"Wow." Dean sat back in his seat.

"What?"

"I dunno, Sammy, it's just… You two really have your shit worked out, don't you?"

Sam twiddled his fork in his hand, pushing the pad of his thumb against the tines.

"I was gonna propose, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Before Jess was attacked in our apartment and we ran away in your car."

"So, you're not going to now?"

"Right, because nothing says 'Let's build a future together' like running from demon trying to kill you." Sam scoffed. "I'll wait until we've tracked down this demon."

"Could be a while until that happens," Dean reminded his brother.

Sam frowned unhappily, but Dean didn't try to push the issue any further. When their waitress arrived with their order, Sam dragged the sandwich in front of him and took a reluctant bite.

"You got your appetite back?" Dean hoped.

"Not exactly," Sam grimaced. "But I know this is hard on Jess. I'm gonna help her any way I can."

"Aw, Sammy, aren't you the perfect little boyfriend. Running from a demon or not, she'd be crazy to want to leave you."

"Whatever," Sam muttered, his mouth full of sandwich.

Jess returned shortly, sheepishly sitting beside Sam.

"Sorry I lost my head a little earlier," she apologized, twirling her fork in her plate of pasta.

"Sharing headspace with someone has got to be hard," Sam sympathized. "I think you're handling things pretty well, considering."

"It's getting harder to tell the difference, sometimes," Jess confessed. "Like I'll feel this burst of amusement or irritation and it takes me a second to realize it's you, Sam, and not me."

"It'll get easier with time," Sam reassured. "You just need to practice."

"You can always call and ask Missouri," Dean suggested.

"I'll give another couple weeks," Jess decided. "I want to give this a fair try on my own first." She took another bite of her meal and then nearly choked on it as she snorted and giggled.

"Seriously?" she asked Sam.

"What?" Sam asked, not fooling anyone with the false innocence.

"We're in public," Jess giggled, her face heating up.

"Oh, you can't be serious," Dean groaned, averting his eyes as the couple shared a sloppy kiss.

"Sorry, dude." The stupid grin that sat across Sam's face didn't really help to sell the apology.

"Whatever, man. Go get your own room, you two, before you traumatize all the customers. This is a family establishment."

Yeah. Definitely more annoying.

The whole Max Miller situation had creeped Sam out from the moment they had stepped into his house. Max had sat across from them, seeping a toxic glare that sapped any warmth that could grow in the room. Max's stepmother was a shivering shell in the corner, insisting on her presence but appearing too frightened to do anything with it. And the father loomed in his armchair, casting a damp shadow over the whole awkward interview.

Unlike with Andy, though, Sam could feel that the Millers were hiding something. Jess claimed she could feel it as well, although she had been trying to block out her radar, sticking with the plan of focusing on Sam. They had called it a day after the unsuccessful interview, knowing they would stick around and try to dig more up. Max had an uncle that they could talk to; maybe he would be more forthcoming.

The whole thing had set Sam on edge, though. There was something about the whole dynamic of that family that bothered him. Sam was pretty sure that no one was possessed. Even if she was trying to focus on him, Jess would have felt something of that magnitude right away. But maybe Max knew something about the demon. If they could get him alone, he might be more willing to talk.

"Sam," Jess groaned beside him, her voice muffled by the pile of covers she had borrowed under. "It's nighttime," she complained. "Stop thinking so hard and go to sleep."

"Just stop listening," Sam replied, tamping down the brief flicker of irritation. Sam was tired of trying to be considerate of Jess. She had been in his head long enough to no longer be considered a guest; it was time she learned to put up with his metaphorical dirty laundry or lump it.

"I can't turn it off," she grouched. "My dial's stuck permanently on Sam FM, and the volume's cranked to the top. Been like that ever since we left the Miller's."

"That's different," Sam frowned. Up until now, she had been having problems sticking to his "station" as it were. Now she couldn't break the connection? Did that mean her control was getting worse?

"Oh, no, Sam you're not supposed to start obsessing about that, too," Jess bemoaned, picking up on where his thoughts had wondered. "It's fine, baby, just a blip." She stuck her head far enough out of the covers to give him a reassuring peck.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be complaining when I'm eavesdropping on you. Just… Maybe think some nice thoughts while I try to go to sleep?"

The cool light from the parking lot filtered through the cheap curtains and scattered across Jess. Her hair spilled onto the pillows and tickled his shoulder. Dark eyes gazed across the bed and met his.

"Maybe you could give me some ideas," he suggested in an anticipating whisper.

"Here's an idea," Dean growled from across the room. "Both of you shut up now and get some sleep."

Jess winced, but Sam just grinned.

"Sorry, Grandpa," Sam called out. "Didn't mean to upset your delicate sensibilities."

"Bite me," Dean grunted. Sam heard the sheets moving as Dean rolled over in bed.

Sam smiled at Jess, and she rolled her eyes.

Then his sight cut out and he was thrust into another world entirely.

He was outside, on a suburban street, watching a car drive up the road and into a garage. He followed it helplessly, having no control over what he saw. It wasn't until the car had pulled in completely and Sam got his first close look at the driver that he recognized the man.

It was Jim Miller, Max's father.

The garage door closed as Miller shut off the car and frowned. He hadn't pushed a button to close the door, Sam realized. A ghost, maybe?

Then, the car started again, and Sam started to get worried. The locks popped closed. The radio stuttered as Miller jimmied the keys frantically. Smoke poured through the vents impossibly fast, and the man started to cough. He tried the opposite door to no avail.

"Help! Somebody help me!" he shouted.

I should help him, Sam thought. But he was frozen, watching powerlessly as Miller weakened. Sam was the observer, distantly watching as the life seeped out of the man.

"Sam."

And just as suddenly, Sam was back in the motel room with Dean shaking his shoulders and Jess scrubbing her forehead.

"Yeah. I'm okay, Dean," Sam reassured. His head was throbbing, and he was having a hard time catching his breath. In the vision, everything had seemed to distant, and now the world was crushingly real.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded.

"A vision," Jess supplied. "I saw it too. At least some of it."

"A vision. Like your death visions?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. That comment kicked him into action. He pushed the covers aside and stumbled out of the bed. "We have to get there now! Maybe if we're fast enough—"

"Where?" Dean demanded. "Sam. What did you see?"

"Jim Miller," Jess replied for Sam. "Something kills him. We need to try to stop it."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks once again to all my reviewers and those who subscribed to alerts. I'm so glad to see you are still enjoying this story.

CHAPTER TEN

"So you don't know what it was?" Dean barely spared a glance at his brother as he spun the Impala around a tight corner

"I didn't see the attacker," Sam reiterated from the passenger seat.

"The demon?" Jess guessed.

"Not the usual MO," Dean pointed out. "It's been all about setting things on fire, so why go with a car all of a sudden?"

"It has to be connected to the demon," Sam argued. "It'd be too much of a coincidence if it was something else."

"Best we can do is go in prepared for anything," Dean decided. They turned onto the street the Millers lived. "I got holy water and salt in my jacket."

"I've got silver and iron knives," Jess offered.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I was a little busy with the whole psychic vision thing," Sam replied petulantly.

"Dammit, Sam! I left the .45 in the glove box. Take that, at least."

There were silver bullets in the gun, so Dean figured they'd be prepared for most stuff, unless it was really weird. He hastily parked the Impala, and they all scrambled out of the car.

The Miller house was silent; all of the lights were turned off except for the garage.

"Stay close," Dean ordered. The garage door was closed, so the only entrance was through the side. Dean kicked the door in and ducked his head down as cloudy exhaust spilled out of the garage.

Jim Miller was in the car, pounding on the windows and scrambling for the handles. Max stood by the interior door, his outstretched hand trembling with rage and strain. Blood trickled from his nose down his chin. Somehow, Max had to be responsible for what was happening to his father.

Sam ran to the car instantly and tugged at the door. Max's eyes widened in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. Before waiting for an answer, he did something with his hand and a wooden box came flying towards Sam, crashing into his head and sending him crumpling to the floor.

"Sam!" Jess shrieked.

"Don't move!" Max commanded. "If you come any closer, I'll do it again." It would have been foolish not to take him at his word. The car had stopped running, but Jim was unconscious inside the vehicle, and would definitely need medical attention.

"Look, Max, you have to calm down," Dean spoke soothingly. "We're just trying to help. That's why we came to your house today."

"You said you were reports," Max choked out. "You asked if we noticed anything strange."

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

"Does this count as strange?" Max wondered. His hand stretched out again and a rake shifted up off the wall and began to float towards him.

"Yeah, that would count." Dean could do little but watch in horrified fascination. Blood flowed sluggishly down Max's face and dripped onto his collar. There was a gleam in the man's eyes; not quite demonic, but far from human.

"Max, it's a demon that's given you these powers," Jess spoke up, not taking her eyes off Sam's still form. "But you don't have to use them for evil. You don't even have to use them at all."

"Not use them?" Max croaked. "Are you serious? This is the first time in my entire life when I've had an advantage over my dad. When he hasn't been standing over me, bruising me, making my bleed. You think I'm not going to take advantage of that? I'm gonna give it everything I've got. You hear that, Dad?" Max called out to the motionless body in the car. "It's my turn to have some freaking power now!"

"Max, maybe you didn't have the best family life," Jess continued. "But you still have a choice."

Max laughed a hollow, broken chuckle that made Dean's throat tighten. "Look, I don't know if you're crazy or not. I mean, demons? Seriously? But I gotta tell you, whatever it is, I don't care where it came from. I'm gonna use to it to get back the power that's been taken from me. And if you don't like it, I'll take you down, too. You know I can."

Dean glanced down at his brother. Sam was still unconscious, laying awkwardly near the door. But the gun he had hastily shoved in his waistband had been knocked free. Max was too far away for Dean to reach, but a gun could do the trick. He just needed to get close enough to Sam.

Although that was going to be hard on its own, given that Max could just whammy something to smash him over the head if he tried to make a move.

"Look, Max, you've made your point," Dean soothed, holding his open hands out to project innocence. "We won't try to hurt you. But I'm worried about my brother. Will you let me go check on him?"

"He's still alive," Max shook his head. "That's all you need to know."

"I still want to see him," Dean persisted. He took a step towards Sam.

"I said no!" Max shouted, snapping out his hands in command. The rake, still floating all this time, pivoted and arrowed towards Dean, who ducked in anticipation.

But Max screamed suddenly, clutching his head. Dean wasted no time and dove for the gun. He grabbed the weapon and fired three quick shots, each hitting the mark of Max's chest.

Silence exploded in the room. Max lay still on the ground, completely unmoving.

Dean shook Sam's shoulder gently. "Sam? Wake up, man."

Sam groaned softly, and began to shift around. Dean turned to Jess, and found her sitting on the ground clutching her head.

"You did something," Dean realized. "To Max?"

She nodded silently, tears collecting in her eyes.

"What did you do?"

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice wavering. "I don't know what I did. He was trying to attack you, and the next thing I knew I felt this…. _energy_ leave me and he was screaming and—"

"Okay. It's okay, Jess. Calm down. Here, help Sam."

Jess crawled obediently to Sam and helped him rise to a sitting position. She spoke softly to him and Dean reached up from his position on the floor to pop open the door of the car. It opened easily now that Max was… was dead. The man inside, though, had not faired too well.

"He's dead," Dean announced flatly, shoving his hands in his pockets to cover up their trembling.

"We didn't get here in time," Jess mourned.

"He was abusing Max," Dean shot back. "Didn't you hear what the kid said? I can't spare too much sympathy for the guy."

"Still," Jess insisted.

"We need to get out of here," Dean announced. "As quickly as possible. Here, I'll help with Sammy."

"C'n walk" Sam muttered, flopping his hands around ineffectively.

"Dean," Jess protested.

"Jess, how the hell would we explain this to the cops?" Dean demanded. "There's no way. C'mon, we need to be gone." Dean lifted Sam's arm around his shoulder and hefted his injured brother to a standing position.

Sam groaned loudly. "Room's spinning," he complained.

"Fresh air'll do you good," Dean announced.

"Dean," Jess tried again.

"Jess, not now," Dean cut in. "We're not talking about this until we're as far away from Saginaw as possible."

They couldn't just leave the motel room the way it was. Too many of their possessions had been left there including some weaponry and Dean's father's journal. They left Sam in the car, ostensibly to keep watch but really just to get some rest. Jess had checked him for a concussion, and he was in the clear but definitely had the mother of all headaches.

So Dean worked with Jess to stuff the absolute essentials into duffels so they could get the hell out of town. He didn't know if the car had been spotted by neighbours, but he sure wasn't taking any chances.

"Hey, Jess…" Dean was shoving clothing into a bag, not even caring who it belonged to while Jess was checking under the mattresses.

"What?" she replied distractedly.

"When Max went down… What did you do to him?"

Jess dropped the mattress immediately, keeping herself turn away from Dean.

"I don't know what it was," she confessed. "All I know is I was feeling scared and overwhelmed, and I just _pushed_. And Max dropped."

"You pushed," Dean repeated blandly.

"Yeah," she huffed, turning to the other mattress.

"Have you ever done something like that before? Do you think you could do it again?"

"I don't know, Dean," she snapped.

"Well, what do you think it did to Max?" he continued.

"Why are you so obsessed with what I did to Max? It's not like I killed him or anything."

Dean snapped his jaw closed. Jess, predictably, was by his side in an instant.

"Dean, I'm sorry," she told him, biting down on her lip. "That was really insensitive of me. Are you okay?"

"We kill stuff all the time, Jess," Dean shrugged, grabbing the last pile of clothes. "It's not anything new."

"We kill _supernatural_ stuff," Jess corrected. "A lot different than a human, Dean."

"Max was threatening Sam; he was threatening you. He succeeded in killing his father, and he would have killed us. I did what I had to do." He hefted the duffle on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here. We can stop by the machine on our way out and grab some ice for Sam."

"Dude, for the last time, I'm _fine_."

Dean just kept his hand level in front of Sam, two Tylenols cupped in the palm.

Sam sighed, but grabbed the pills regardless. It was the quickest way to get Dean to drop it and, if he was really honest with himself, he did actually have a headache. He wasn't concussed, though, and he would be fine, despite the hovering of his brother and girlfriend.

They had been driving for hours, and Sam really needed to just get out of the car and sleep in a real bed. But he knew they needed to get as far away as possible. Jess was currently on a food run while Dean was on Sam-watch.

"Dude, I'll be fine. But how about you?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean frowned.

"Dean… You killed Max." Jess and Dean had filled him in during the drive.

"You're going to pester me about this too?" Dean complained. "I already told Jess, Max barely even counted as a human."

"Because he had powers," Sam filled in.

"What? No! Because he tried to kill you, Sammy. And he would have, too, if I had let him. He was seriously deranged even without the powers. They had nothing to do with what he was, they just helped him along."

"He was abused," Sam remembered. "His dad beat him."

"And that sucks," Dean replied. "But that doesn't give him the right to go all mass murderer on our asses. We make our own choices with the life we're dealt. Yeah, Max had freaky-ass powers just like you and Jess, but you're going to make the right call with them."

"Dean, what if—"

"Not going to happen, Sam. Whatever worst-case scenario you have going on in your head, you'll make the right decision."

"Okay," Sam agreed, glad to let Dean shove aside some of the nagging doubt he was burdened with.

"Besides, dude, you got the bottom of the barrel when it comes to psychic powers. Max could move shit, and Jess can tell if there's a demon nearby, and you've got, what, prophetic migraines? Lame, Sammy. As soon as we catch the sucker behind all this, you should lodge a formal complaint."

News reports on the Millers' deaths were confused and scattered. The police were thinking a possible murder suicide, although they were baffled as to why the father would shoot his son with a gun and then kill himself with carbon monoxide poisoning, not to mention the mystery of where the gun went.

But, the wife had been in bed with sleeping pills that night, and miraculously, no one had caught sight of the Impala driving away. No one matching their description had popped up on any alerts, so they declared themselves safe, as long as they steered clear of Michigan for the next while.

They headed back to Bobby's to lay low over Christmas, sharing a strange holiday with Moore, Winchester, and Singer traditions combined. Jess pushed the idea of a re-gifting secret Santa with fierce determination, which ended up with Dean getting a rap CD from Dylan and Sam getting a hat from Bobby, complete with earflaps, that smelled like it had been kept with the really wacky herbs for the better part of the decade. Jess, in a desperate attempt to win back Dylan's favour, had cheated and enlisted Bobby's help in tracking down a part for the car Dylan was fixing up. Dylan accepted the part, but didn't respond any warmer to her.

Jess and the brothers didn't stay long, not wanting to risk being found, so they were on the road again trying to track down more people on the list and picking up the odd job along the way. They had no success with the former, but had done pretty well on the latter.

Jess was getting better at her psychic abilities, and could mostly control her connection with Sam. She was firmly ignoring the weird psychic attack thing she did on Max, instead focusing on blocking out the signal from others around her. When it got to be too intense, she put her feelers out to Sam and shut out everything else. The only issue was that if Sam was experiencing a particularly strong emotion, there was no way she could block it out.

It was particularly distracting the night after her birthday. She had shared a joint celebration with Dean the previous night at a local bar. Sam and Dean had shown more stamina than her, so she had walked back to the motel a little earlier than the boys, who stumbled in sometime after 3, both horribly drunk and making a racket. But Sam had wanted to take her to a nice restaurant with just the two of them, and she eagerly accepted. They hadn't been on anything resembling a date since they had left Stanford.

Jess pulled on her fake FBI slacks and blouse, leaving off the blazer and popping a few of the buttons on the shirt open. She wore her nice-ish shoes, lamenting the lack of heel, and took the time to actually do her hair instead of pulling it into a braid. All of her jewelry had been left in California except for the crucifix and protective amulet she always wore. She glanced at the overall effect in the mirror, and opened the shirt another button lower.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found Dean alone in the room, flicking through a copy of a skin magazine.

"Well, Jessie, don't you clean up nice," he grinned.

She scowled, not sure if it was meant as a compliment or a dig. It had been so long since she had even tried to look pretty that she felt all sorts of insecure.

"Where's Sam?"

"Getting the car for you, poor whipped bastard." Dean put the magazine down. "You be sure that he parks far enough away from all the idiot drivers that I'm sure this town has."

Jess rolled her eyes. "It'll be safe, Dean, I promise."

The doorknob rattled, and Sam stepped in. Like Jess, he was wearing a more dressed-down version of his FBI outfit, the only nice clothes they really owned. He had left the tie off tonight, letting the collar gape open to reveal his nicely tanned neck.

"Hey," he smiled.

"Hey," she replied, feeling her heart trip in her chest. Foolishly nervous, she ran her hand through her hair. It felt like her high school prom all over again.

"Just get out of here before you fill the whole room with sap," Dean complained from the bed.

He had been grumpy and hung over all day, so Jess let that comment slide, instead letting Sam help her into her jacket and hold the door open for her as they stepped out.

"And watch out for my car!" Dean called to them as the door closed.

Sam, playing the part of the gentleman perfectly, opened the car door for her as well. Although this sort of behavior would annoy the crap out of her day in and day out, she enjoyed the special treatment every once in a while. They drove to the restaurant in silence, and Jess felt hesitant to speak, blushing whenever she glanced over at Sam. Finally, it occurred to her that the expectant nervousness wasn't entirely her own.

"Okay, Sam, what's up?"

"What do you mean?" He blinked rapidly as he kept his eyes firmly on the road.

"All these jitters I'm feeling. It's like our first date all over again and I'm worrying I won't be able to eat anything once we get there."

Sam stiffened in his seat. "You feel that, huh?"

"I can't shut it off. What gives?"

"Nothing." Sam scratched the back of his neck. "It's just… It's been a while since we've been out like this and I'm remembering what it _was_ like our first time out together. I dunno, in some ways it's almost like that all over again. This is the first time we've had an entire night all to our own since we went on the road."

"I guess that makes sense," Jess shrugged.

Sam relaxed a bit. "Sorry it's messing with your radar."

"You know, I kind of like it," she decided. "Sometimes it's nice to look at things like they're all new again."

They found a good spot for the Impala and walked the short distance to the restaurant together. The place was a lot nicer than the diners they usually frequented, but not so nice that Jess felt out of place in her clunky dress shoes and lack of sparkly accessories. They ate leisurely, knowing that there was no case for them to run off to for once. Jess convinced Sam to split the richest dessert on the menu with her, some sort of chocolate concoction covered in caramel drizzle with a side of ice cream. The demolished plate sat between them and Jess was licking her spoon absently when Sam pushed his coffee cup aside and cleared his throat.

Jess felt the sudden spike of nerves instantly. "What is it, Sam?" she asked, setting her spoon back on the table.

Sam grinned ruefully. "You felt that, huh?"

"Of course I did, you've got enough adrenaline pumping through your veins to make your heart explode."

Sam choked out a laugh and raked his hand through his hair. "Look, Jess, I want to say something, and I need you to let me say it, okay?"

"Sure. Whatever you need."

"Okay…. You know how before we had a demon army after us, we were talking about, you know, our future?"

"Yeah…" They had talked about marriage and kids, something they were both open to at the time.

"Well, ever since then, I've been so focused on hunting those demons so we can be safe again. I told myself that we couldn't think about the future until we knew it was demon free. But lately, I've been thinking, Jess. We have a hazardous job. What happened with Max before Christmas? That could've gone a completely different way. And just last week, with that poltergeist… It's dangerous, Jess. So what's the point of putting something away to the future when we can be living it right now?"

She tried to keep the smile from spreading across her face, but it was a lost cause. There was no doubt about what was coming next. She could feel it in the air, thick and rich with anticipation.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He pulled the lid off the reveal a sliver ring resting in the cushion. "Jess, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

Her smile was completely unleashed now. "Yeah, Sam. Of course I will."

Sam beamed one of those rare-prize smiles that transformed his whole face into something even more special than it usually was. He pulled the ring from the box and took her hand.

"I know it's not much," he told her as he slipped it on her finger. "I couldn't take a lot of money from my personal account, and I didn't want to buy you a ring from credit card fraud or pool hustling. When we're settled again, I can buy you a better one."

"Don't you dare," she told him. "I love this ring." It had no jewel, but the silver knotted at the top in a design that, on closer inspection, resembled a Devil's Trap.

"Bobby says the design's good," Sam informed her.

"It's perfect," she reiterated.

They took their time getting out of the restaurant. Jess decided to forgo her usual aversion to PDA, and Sam was taking advantage of it as much as he could. She felt slightly loopy, swimming in the mutual joy and simmering heat between them. Their waitress smile indulgently at their distraction, and Jess was pretty sure that Sam grossly over tipped her, which probably contributed to the indulging. When they reached the door outside, it put a slight damper on the occasion.

"Horrible weather," Sam commented, looking up at the icy sleet falling from the sky.

"It's still a beautiful night," Jess smiled.

"Sure. Look, I'll run and grab the car. You stay warm and dry right here."

"I can come with you," Jess offered. "It's not that far."

"Stay," Sam insisted. "What kind of fiancé would I be if I let you get all cold and wet all the time?"

Jess gave him a quick peck (okay, a longish kiss) before he started jogging towards the parking lot.

For the first time since she had discovered their origin, Jess used her powers to reach out and stay close to Sam, simply because she wanted to. It was easy to sense his signature cocktail of elation and happiness even though she couldn't see him. She even caught flashes of what he was imagining in his head: their future according to Sam.

But then she felt startled fear rip through her like a serrated blade, followed by a blast of pain to her gut that brought her to her knees.

"Miss!" The hostess rushed to her and grabbed her arms. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Sam!" she shouted, not caring who heard. "Something's wrong, we have to—" She felt phantom pain from Sam again, this time thundering against her skull.

"Miss, are you okay? Where did your boyfriend go?"

Jess struggled against the pain, trying to speak to tell them to _find Sam_. But the world was quickly blurring around her, and when she felt another burst of pain against her temple, she descended completely into darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thanks everyone who reviewed the previous chapter! I do apologize for the mean cliffhanger, and I should probably say the same thing in advance for this chapter... :)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

He would never admit it to Sam, but Dean definitely needed a night on his own to nurse the post-birthday hangover he had earned. Sam claimed to have spent his time at Stanford studying, but based on the alcohol tolerance the kid had built up, that wasn't all he had done.

Anyway, Dean having the motel room to himself for the night was a good thing, and if Sam had any sort of game he would get his own room for tonight. Dean was expecting to be left blissfully alone until morning. Which was why Dean was surprised when Jess' name popped up on his caller ID.

"Congratulations," he answered. "Sammy already told me he was planning on proposing. Now hang up the phone and go back to doing inappropriate things to my brother in public."

"Dean." Jess' voice came through loud and panicked. "You need to come here."

Dean sat up straight and gripped the phone tighter. "Where are you, Jess?"

A heavy breath hit the phone. "By the Impala. Parked behind the restaurant. Dean, something's happened to Sam. You need to get over here to help. He was supposed to bring the car and he didn't come back and now he's not here, and I _don't know what to do, Dean_!"

The sound of the TV, the ache in his head, and his encroaching lethargy all snapped away, replaced with singular focus on what Jess was saying. Sam couldn't be missing. He was smart and strong and he just _couldn't be missing. _Dean would shoot whatever was responsible in its freaking face for doing this.

He stomped his feet into his boots and threw on a jacket. "Okay, Jess, take a deep breath," he ordered.

She sobbed into the phone. "Dean, you have to help me!"

He would shoot the thing another time just for making Jess cry. "I will," he promised. "I'll get over there as soon as I can. Listen to me, Jess: can you get into the car?"

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Door was ajar," she replied quietly.

"Okay. So, Jess, what you need to do is get into the car and lock all the doors. There should be a gun and holy water in the glove box. Take those out; keep them on your lap. I have to hang up now—"

"Dean!"

"I need to call a cab!" Dean snapped, sharper than he intended. "I'll get there as soon as I can, okay? Just wait for me."

"Okay," Jess agreed. "Okay."

The cab company promised a ten minute wait, which sure as hell wasn't going to cut it for Dean. Instead, he jogged over to the motel parking lot and stole the first car he saw. Getting caught and having his credibility shot in the town wasn't enough of a deterrent right now. He got across town within minutes, and found the Impala parked behind the restaurant Sam had planned on taking Jess to.

Jess scrambled out of the car as he approached.

"Dean!" She flung her arms around him, and he held her tightly, if a little uncomfortably. Jess didn't usually demand this type of reassurance, but he had never seen her in this situation before.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, pulling back a little so he could see her face.

"It was sleeting, so Sam went to get the car," Jess explained, wiping the corner of her eye with her jacket sleeve. "I was waiting at the restaurant and I felt something attack him. It… it knocked him unconscious and brought me down too. When I woke up, I came out here and couldn't find Sam anywhere.

"Nothing on the ground to indicate where they went?" Dean bent down to take a look himself.

"The snow's covered everything up," she lamented.

"Anyone at the restaurant know what happened?"

"I didn't ask," she confessed. "I had a hard enough time convincing them to not call the police."

The cops would just draw additional attention to them, ask all sorts of awkward questions, and try to make them stay in town, three things that Dean really didn't need right now.

"What if it was the demon, Dean? It wants to kill Sam. We have to find him; we have to make sure he's safe!"

"We'll find him, Jess, I promise." He blocked out her unsteady breath, forcing himself to focus. They needed to approach this properly instead of running around and shooting at everything that moved. He was sure as hell going to get Sam back, which meant he had to work as a hunter here. "Look, Jess, you'll feel if Sam's hurt any more than he is, right?"

Jess nodded. "I think he's still unconscious. I'm trying to stay connected to him as much as I can."

"Good. Look, we're going to head back to the motel room now. We need to research the weather patterns of the area, check out reports for cattle mutilations and see if there's been enough activity to even point to the demon. We can't just assume that's what it was."

Jess nodded tightly again. Dean guided her to the passenger seat, and slipped into the car after her. He made a note to himself to pick up the stolen car later on and drove them back to the motel in the Impala.

"You go on in and start pulling up some weather maps," Dean instructed when they reached their room. "I'll be right there." Jess entered the room. As soon as the door shut, Dean pulled out his cell phone.

He hit the speed dial and waited impatiently as the phone rang. Predictably, it reached voicemail, and Dean jiggled his leg through the familiar message until finally the beep sounded.

"Hi, Dad? Look, you need to call me back. It's Sam. He's gone missing."

Dean forced himself to wait an hour before he took a cab back to the restaurant. Jess was still poring over satellite images of surrounding areas, trying to determine a pattern. She had punched Dean in the eye when he told her she couldn't come with him, but he needed to go as police, and it wouldn't make any sense to bring the missing person's girlfriend, or fiancé, rather, with him to the crime scene. Anyway, he could tell she was taking things hard, and he didn't want to put her through any more stress.

Like he was holding up any better. What had he been thinking in calling his dad like a scared child needing reassurance? Part of him was holding onto the hope that his father would come swinging into town and fix everything with that magical ability six-year-old Dean had thought the man possessed. But the last few months had taught Dean that his father didn't do that anymore, and he was already starting to regret the panicked phone call. The only thing that kept him from calling again and saying "no, thanks, we can work it out ourselves after all" was that he wasn't going to shut out any opportunity that might help get Sammy back, no matter how slim it might be.

He gave the cabby a bundle that was probably the handful of fifties he had won a couple nights ago and waved off the offers for change. Taking a cab had set him more on edge, but he needed to pick up the stolen car and take it back before someone noticed it missing. Dean couldn't afford them having to run out of town on a stolen car charge. They had to be able to move around freely if they wanted to find Sam.

"Detective Simmons," Dean announced himself when he entered the restaurant. "I need to speak with someone about an incident that occurred here earlier tonight."

"Are you talking about that guy with his girlfriend?" the skinny hostess asked, eyeliner coated eyes open wide. "That was crazy!"

"It wasn't crazy, it was a crime!" Dean barked.

The girl blinked. "Sorry," she spoke meekly.

Dean sighed. "Look, I just need to know if any staff saw something."

"The parking lot's out back," she shrugged. "And no one in the kitchen was out there when that guy went missing. Trust me, someone would have said if they were."

People were heartless gossips, Dean accepted. If one of the kitchen staff had seen something, and lived to tell the tale, it would have spread to the rest of the staff by now. But the restaurant was still his best lead, and he couldn't abandon it. He would have to canvas the staff anyway, just to be sure. Maybe they hadn't _thought_ they saw something, but actually did. People dismissed the supernatural all the time.

"Did you want to see the tapes?" The hostess interrupted Dean's planning.

"What tapes?" Dean frowned.

"The security tapes," she supplied. "We set up cameras in that parking lot cause people's cars were always getting vandalized. I can give you the tapes of when that guy went missing. You won't even need to get a warrant or anything!"

In a very short time, Dean found himself sitting in a cramped office filled with bottles of steak sauce while skipping through images on a monitor. He knew what time they left the motel, so he was able to find the spot in the tape where Sam and Jess drove into the lot and parked the car. Dean fast-forwarded from that spot, watching others come into the parking lot, or some people exit the restaurant and drive away. Cars drove by on the side streets, and a large trucker rig parked on the road behind the parking lot. Finally, Dean found Sam coming around the corner of the restaurant, digging in his pocket for keys while hunching his head down in protection against the snow. Sam unlocked the car door and was just opening it when two large men jumped out from seemingly nowhere and attacked. On a good day, Sam would have a hard time fighting those two off by himself. These guys were clearly other than human, one holding Sam back with ease while the other landed blows to Sam's abdomen and head.

Dean clenched his jaw painfully tight as Sam, hanging limply, was loaded into the back of the semi-truck that had been parked on the street. He took note of the timestamp, and searched through the other camera feeds to get a better angle.

Each time, he saw the attack on Sam from a different perspective. Each time, Dean kept himself from shoving the monitor onto the floor.

Finally, on the last camera, Dean found a lead. The license plate for the truck.

It wasn't much, but it was something at least. Dean couldn't punch an image on a screen or a story Jess had told, but this, at least, was something he could hunt.

When Sam regained consciousness, he didn't try to get up right away.

Instead, he took stock of as much as he could. Physically, he could tell he was in bad shape. His head still ached from where he had been hit by his attackers, and his mouth tasted stale and worrisomely dry. A dull ache spread upwards from his side.

He was lying down on something that offered thin padding but smelled terrible, reminiscent of so many old motel cots that he had slept on in the past. But Sam could tell that he wasn't in a motel room. The vibrations that traveled through the cot and tickled his bruised side were familiar. He could recognize the sensation of highway rushing away under wheels even if he wasn't half-concussed. The sounds of vehicles passing by was a constant presence.

"You're not fooling anyone into thinking you're still asleep, Sammy. You might as well open your eyes."

Sam complied, blinking in the dim light. A quick trial proved that he was fastened firmly to the cot by scratchy ropes at his ankles and wrists. He was lying in the corner of a large rectangular room, the walls made of metal.

"We're in the back of a truck?" Sam guessed.

"Give the kid a gold star," the voice replied, male and heavily sarcastic. "This here's a mobile lab, boy."

Sam craned his neck around, but didn't see anyone. Steeling himself against the inevitable ache, he squirmed and pushed himself up until he was in a sitting position on the bed, wrists still firmly tied down at his sides and head throbbing. A bulky man stood in the opposite corner by an electric lantern. It was the only source of light in the trailer which was completely windowless.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, blinking away the last of his grogginess.

"I would have thought you'd have figured it out by now," the man chided. "You're supposed to be the smart one."

"As far as I know, the only thing that would kidnap me wants me dead, not coming on joyrides with it."

"Oh, Sam, you're too narrow minded," the man lectured. He stepped forward a few paces, and Sam frowned as his eyes flicked yellow. "Just because I'm going to kill you doesn't mean I'm not going to have a little fun first."

"I've never seen a demon with yellow eyes before," Sam remarked, trying dig some sort of information out of the thing.

"I'm a special one," it smirked, confirming that it was, in fact, a demon. Could it be _the_ demon? The one they were hunting? It had to be. "Speaking of which, it's time to get you hooked up," it grinned.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked warily.

The demon picked up a plastic package from the floor and strolled over to Sam. "I had my guys set you up already," it told Sam, pointing a finger at Sam's left elbow.

Sam glanced down and saw that a needle and tube were already sticking out of his arm, a sickly purple bruise blooming around the site. The demon unraveled the package in its hand, uncoiling the thin plastic tube and rolling the bag of blood in its hand. It didn't take much to guess what that was.

"No!" Sam shouted. "You can't—"

"I know, Sammy, it's not how I did it the first time. But the blodd's the fastest way to get results, and it takes time to build up enough of the good stuff in your system by drinking alone. This way's more direct. I've got a partner who's very interested to see what my children are capable of. You get to be my show pony. The one-trick wonder who pulls out all the stops before it heads off to the glue factory."

Sam jerked out of the way as the demon advanced. It frowned slightly and then, with a tilt of its head, Sam found himself slammed against the mattress, completely motionless.

"Please, Sam. As if you could even attempt to fight back." Calmly, it connected the bag up to Sam's IV, hooking it on the high headboard above Sam. "There. We'll leave you with that for now. It'll still take a bit to soak in."

Sam watched silently as the blood shot down the tube and disappeared into his arm. Yes, he knew objectively that demon blood was already inside him. But actually seeing it happen made him want to tear the veins out of his arms. The demon still held him immobilized, though, his head tilted so it was in perfect view of what was happening. So Sam closed his eyes, vowing to just ignore it. The small bit of demon blood he had been exposed to when he was a baby hadn't turned him into anything other than human. This would be the same. He wouldn't change, wouldn't play into the demon's plan.

Sam's eyes remained closed, but it was impossible to forget the smug smile on that demon's face.


	12. Chapter 12

Jess had given herself a specific amount of time where she was allowed to freak out. When that passed, she sat up, wiped her eyes, and got to work on finding Sam. She still felt hollow, like someone had taken an ice cream scoop and emptied all of her insides, leaving a gaping bloody mess in its place. But she had to work past that. She and Dean were the only people capable of getting Sam back, and they had to be at their best. Every second counted.

Jess continued to work the weather-pattern angle while Dean tracked down the truck that had taken Sam. Jess found satellite images that matched the ones her father had recorded, and Dean, with a combination of fast lies and shamelessness for waking people up at 3 am, had managed to get ahold of the GPS track for the truck.

It was holding steady about half an hour outside of town, so they had immediately packed up and shipped out.

Jess drained her fifth cup of coffee and turned to watch Dean in the driver's seat. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was gripping the steering wheel so tight she was scared he would snap it.

"We'll find him, Dean," she reassured.

Dean clenched his jaw tighter and nodded.

"Look, he's still bouncing in and out of consciousness, but he's not in any pain," she shared.

"You still have no idea where he is?" Dean asked hoarsely.

"It doesn't work that way," she replied, carefully keeping the heat out of her response. Dean knew that just as well as she did, but he deserved to be cut a little slack. "The tracker says it's right up here," Jess directed, pointing ahead to a gravel turnout.

Dean pulled the Impala to the side and checked the gun he had stowed in his waistband. Guns made Dean feel more in control, so Jess didn't question the wisdom of bringing it to a demon fight. She merely grabbed the flasks of holy water by her feet and handed Dean one.

"You ready?" she asked.

"Yeah. Stay behind me, okay?"

Jess gritted her teeth, but obeyed, responding to Dean's superior experience.

They exited the car quietly, moving softly but quickly. There were no other vehicles visible, but a thick cluster of trees far off offered a great hiding spot. Maybe they had pulled the truck in there for coverage.

"Wait." Dean threw up an arm, and Jess stopped obediently. He crouched down to the ground and picked up a small plastic box with wires sticking out of it.

"Shit," he pronounced, dropping the box to the floor. "Shit!" he whipped out the gun and fired three shots at the object. Plastic flew into the air in scattered bits. "Son of a bitch! Shit!"

"Dean…"

"That was the damn GPS box, Jess," Dean shouted. He kicked at the remaining pieces. "They ripped the thing out. Now we have no clue where Sam is."

Damn.

Jess collected the scraps of her confidence and fit them back together as best she could. "Look, Dean, this isn't the end of the line for us, okay? Yeah, maybe it's not going to be as straightforward as we thought, but we still have leads."

"What do we have, Jess?" Dean asked wearily.

"Well, we know Sam's still in the truck. Why would they bother to remove the GPS if they're going to ditch it? And we know the types of weather patterns this thing makes when it goes somewhere. We just need to pull up a satellite weather image and we can find it."

"It's a demon, there's no way we can run after it in the Impala."

"Normally, yes," she persisted. "But it's got Sam with it. It's using the truck. As long as we can track the weather, we can track the truck."

Dean's eyes widened as he understood. "Jess, that might actually work," he acknowledged.

"Glad to see you have such confidence in me," she rolled her eyes. "I promise we'll get Sam back, Dean. You and me together."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

They scouted around the area for a while longer, making sure they didn't miss anything, before they drove back to the motel to pack up.

As they cleared out the room, they talked out their plan of action.

"The only challenge is keeping track of the truck while we're driving," Jess admitted, folding shirts and jamming them into bags. She tried not to dwell on the ones that were Sam's. "We won't be able to get fresh images off the internet while we're on the highway. Stopping every couple hours to get an update will waste a lot of time, but so will driving in the wrong direction if we don't get the proper intel."

"How about we get someone to look that up for us?" Dean suggested. "Someone not on the road and with a stable internet connection."

"You think Bobby could do it?" Jess guessed.

"I was actually thinking about your brother, Jess."

"No," Jess snapped. "Not happening, Dean."

"Jess, he's desperate to help in any way," Dean argued. "And I'm totally with you on not taking him on the road, but this is a contribution that's perfectly safe but a hell of a lot useful."

"He's staying out of this whole business," Jess insisted.

"He's already in it, whether you like it or not," Dean retorted. "He knows how to shoot and is decent with a knife. He's learning Latin from Bobby and can already research pretty much anything you need."

"Bobby's teaching him all that?"

"I did a bit, too."

"Dean! You shouldn't have brought him into all this. You _know_ what can happen! Did you even _think_ of the _danger_?"

Dean didn't respond. He frowned down at his feet and rubbed a hand across his torso.

"What?" Jess demanded. "You're just going to ignore what I said?"

"Jess…" Dean cocked his head to the side and stared at her with uncomfortable intensity. "Are you feeling scared for Dylan?"

"Of course I am!" she shouted. "It's dangerous, Dean. I don't want him to be a part of this."

"I think… I felt that," Dean confessed.

"What do you mean?" Jess demanded.

"Well, when you started talking about Dylan, I got this weird feeling…" Dean rubbed his stomach again. "Like I was afraid of something, but what would I be afraid of?"

Jess swallowed thickly. "You… you think I'm transmitting my own emotions onto other people?"

"Well, I was thinking about what happened with Max, and the theory sort of fits what you did to him. Sort of a sudden attack of how scared and angry you were feeling at the time."

"I did that to you?" she worried.

"Not as strong," Dean shook his head. "But enough to screw with me. Man, does it feel that way for you when you pick up on someone?"

"I don't know," Jess shook her head. "I don't know what happened."

Feeling other's emotions was one thing, but Dean's idea brought her abilities to a whole new level. She had seen how her attack had hurt Max. The possibilities made her gut churn.

"Look, we can't dwell on this now," Jess shook her head. "We need to get going. I'll just… be careful from now on."

"Right." Dean was still examining her closely with his eyes, and Jess couldn't help squirming.

"I'll be okay," she insisted. Then added, as an afterthought: "You will be too."

"Thanks."

"Let's just finish packing up, okay?"

"What about Dylan?" Dean persisted.

"Dean…"

"Jess, he'll be perfectly safe at Bobby's. And he would do a good job."

And he was their best bet. Bobby couldn't possibly be at their beck and call the whole time.

"Okay," she agreed. "I'll call and talk to him."

She stepped out of the room to do so. They had passed through the night, and it was now early in the morning, even earlier in South Dakota, but she did manage to wake Dylan up enough to explain the situation and have him agree to the job. She would have liked to talk to him for just a bit longer, but she noticed a man exit the office and start walking towards her room, and she hung up quickly so she could casually keep an eye on him.

She squinted in the sun to get a better glimpse of him, and when he lifted his head, she recognized him instantly.

It was John Winchester. Finally present in the flesh, after all these months.

She stared at him with a gaping mouth as he approached their motel room. He stared right back at her with a look that made her shrink into the sidewalk.

He flicked his eyes between her and the door, and when he was right in front of her, she jumped to be the first to speak.

"How did you find us?"

He frowned. "You are…?"

"Jessica," she replied shortly.

John's frown deepened. "I thought I told you to stay away from my sons," he growled.

"I didn't listen," she replied. "How did you know where we are?"

"None of your damn business. Where's Dean? In the room?"

Jess scoffed. "Like I'm going to tell you that. You may look like John Winchester, but you could be anything. How did you find this room?"

John scowled. "Tell me where my son is!"

"Dad!"

Jess whipped around to see Dean standing in the doorway of their room.

John's angry look softened. "Dean."

"You came," Dean remarked, his jaw relaxing for the first time in hours.

"It's Sammy," John replied gruffly. "Of course I came."

"Okay," Dean replied. "Look, come inside and we'll tell you everything that happened."

"You called him?" Jess guessed as they stepping into the room.

"Yeah. We need all the help we can get, Jess." Dean pulled out a flask of holy water and handed it to his father. "You mind?" he asked.

John took it quizzically. "What, you taking a page out of Bobby's book now?" He took a long pull without any negative reaction.

"Just being safe," Dean shrugged. "No sense in taking stupid risks. We've even got constant protection." He lifted the anti-possession out of the collar of his shirt to show it to his father.

"Yet you're still letting this girl tag along with you?" John criticized. "I thought I told you she wasn't safe to be around."

Dean stuck his jaw out. "Dad, she's helped us out so much. She loves Sam, and Sam loves her. Trust me, we'd be a lot less safe if she _wasn't_ with us."

"You don't know everything about her, Dean," John retorted. "You don't know what she's got inside of her."

"You're talking about the demon blood?" Jess spoke up. It didn't surprise her that John had figured out for himself what they had discovered.

John froze in his place, and then slowly swiveled around to meet her in the eye.

"Yeah. That's what I'm talking about."

"Sam has that, too," she told the man. "You must know that."

John dropped his head. "It's different with Sammy," he replied. "I know him; he's a good kid."

"And I know Jess," Dean insisted. "We're not leaving her behind."

"I'll just follow you," Jess shrugged. "You think I'm going to give up while my fiancé is missing?"

"Fiance?" John choked.

"We got engaged right before he went missing," she shared.

For the first time since she met him, John actually looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he told her.

"It happened," she brushed off. "Anyway, we need to get on the road as soon as possible. Sam's still alive and unharmed, but we can't push our luck. We need to find him."

"How are you planning on doing that?" John asked.

"The demon's using a semi to transport Sam," Dean explained. "Jess figures that if we keep an eye on the weather patterns we can track it."

"You guys pull up satellite images?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, let's see them."

"The work is good. We don't have time to go over it with you," Jess refused.

"You have time if I say you do," he shot back.

"Those demons have hours on us," Jess replied, trying to keep her boiling temper under control. "We needed to be on the road literally yesterday. I'll give you a copy of our map to look over on the way, but I'm leaving here as soon as possible. Sam can't wait any longer."

John frowned. "Engaged to Sam or not, you are not the essential person in this operation."

"Dad," Dean interjected. "We need her."

"Why?" John demanded. "What does she have that we don't, Dean?"

Dean glanced over at Jess, but she remained silent, chin stuck stubbornly out. Right now, John Winchester was the last man on earth that she wanted to tell about her psychic abilities.

"That's not for me to tell," Dean responded. "Just trust me on this."

John gave his son a stony glare. "Fine," he announced. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Dean. I'm trusting you know what to do with it."

"It won't be wasted, I promise."

John nodded finally, putting the two of them at ease.

"All right. You too go ahead in the Impala. I'll follow in my truck."

Sam had spent hours flickering between consciousness and unconsciousness. The rocking of the truck sometimes felt like it was bringing him to sleep, and other times jarred him awake. He tried to ignore the poisonous tube connected to his arm. The restraints were too strong for him to break, and no amount of wiggling would loosen them. He was completely stuck for the time being. Once, he was visited by two new demons, not the yellow-eyed one, and was untied briefly and given a bucket to do his business in. He had no hope of overpowering two demons without any weapons, and was tied up again within minutes and hooked up to a fresh bag of poison. They hadn't given him any food or water.

Eventually, the truck pulled to a stop and the noise of the road dimmed out. The door at the back of the trailer opened and Sam squinted as the space flooded with hot sunlight briefly before the door slammed shut again. Sunspots danced in his eyes as he strained to make out the new arrivals.

The yellow-eyed demon was back, and a small girl was with him, about ten years old. She wore a neat white dress, and her dark hair was done in perfect ringlets. The innocent juvenile effect was negated by her stone-cold face and dead eyes.

"I think our goose is almost cooked," the yellow-eyed demon announced. "He'll be ready to perform soon."

The girl leaned over Sam's bed to give him a look of cold calculation. "He doesn't look like much, Azazel," she reported with boredom.

The demon, Azazel, flinched. "You know better than to use my name, _Lilith_."

She merely rolled her eyes. "You worry too much. He'll be dead shortly, what's the use of being careful?"

Azazel gnawed on his bottom lip, and Lilith frowned.

"You _are_ still killing him, Azazel. You've got dozens more just like him. I told you, his use is purely to show me what they all are capable of."

"You don't give me orders on which of my children to kill," Azazel snapped. "I know he is to die, that was always part of the plan."

"Fine. Now, you promised me a show. Let's see it."

"We've got a lamb coming to the slaughter in a minute. First, though…" Azazel reached underneath Sam's bed, grabbed a lever of some kind, and hoisted the whole thing vertically. The cot latched into place, leaving Sam in a vertical position.

"Whatever it is you want me to do, I won't do it," Sam spoke up. "You might as well kill me first."

"Sammy, we're just helping you reach your full potential," Azazel purred. "You've had the abilities since I visited you all those years ago."

"You mean the visions?"

The demon chuckled. "There's so much more to it than that, boy. Just you wait until you see what you're capable of."

The door opened yet again, and three people entered. One girl with short blonde hair and a man with a thick beard stood on either side of a writhing, skinny twenty year-old man with a gag bound tightly across his mouth. The prisoner's eyes flashed black as he was chained to the wall closest to Sam. The guards stepped back when the demon was contained and exited the truck.

"Now, Sam," Azazel instructed. "You're going to show Lilith here how you can get rid of this demon."

"You're kidding, right?" Sam blinked. "You want me to exorcise a demon for you?"

"You start speaking an exorcism, I'll tear your tongue out before you've said the first word," Lilith spoke. "You're gonna kill this miserable, greasy, bottom-dwelling excuse for a demon with these so-called amazing powers you possess."

"You mean… my visions?"

"Oh, it's much more than that, Sammy. You have the ability to take charge of an entire demon army. It's hidden away in your blood. But how are you going to be a general if you can't discipline the troops?" Azazel grinned.

"You're just going to kill me after all this is done," Sam reminded the pair.

"Would kind of throw the whole plan off schedule if we let one of you walk around fully trained," Azazel admitted. "I can't risk you going off to war prematurely."

"Well, then, I'm not going to play along with your little plan," Sam announced. "What's the point? If you're going to kill me anyway, I'd rather die with my soul intact." There was still a chance that Dean and Jess would find him. But what was the use of being rescued if he let himself become some sort of demon tool? His integrity meant more than that.

"Ha!" Azazel barked. "Like you even have a chance at that. But that's not the point. I know you're going to play along with this plan perfectly. You know why that is?"

Sam stared at Azazel silently, but the demon carried on, unperturbed.

"Do you know how _easy_ it would be to collect you little girlfriend, Sam? All we'd have to do is stop driving and sit around for a few hours. She'd find us with that brother of yours, and I'll tell you what we'd do then: We kill your brother, and take Jessica and tie her up right in the same spot you are now. We give her the same deal you've been given and see if _she's_ cooperative enough to follow instructions. And you, well, you're dead. But we make sure Jess knows that she could have avoided this whole thing if you'd only been a little more cooperative. What do you say, Sammy? Want to give that a try?"

The fact that they would kill Dean if they got the chance was nothing new. That would happen regardless of what he did. It really came down to a choice between himself and Jess. If he played along, Jess had a chance of being safe.

"What do I need to do?"

Azazel smirked. "You take a look at that demon, Sam. You search inside yourself and find that ability that I know you have. And you reach into the demon and you squeeze the power out of it."

Sam looked at the demon tied to the wall. It was straining against the gag, and its face was a bright red, sweat slick along its neck.

"Okay," Sam agreed.

And he reached.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers and story alert-ers! Hope you guys still enjoy it.

Unsurprisingly, the situation between Dean's father and Jess had only worsened over the next couple days. John had never been one to trust easily, and Jess wasn't exactly doing everything in her power to make it easy. Dean knew that she had a stubborn streak, but this was the first time he had seen her get so nasty with it. John had attempted to grill her for information on her life, her hunting experience, and the people she knew. Although it wasn't gentle, it was his way of being able to judge a person's character and Dean had been used to it his whole life. Jess had responded by refusing to answer, or giving a sarcastic flip which only served to convince John that she couldn't be trusted. This made all the less likely to follow Jess' suggestions without subjecting her to a rigorous questioning period, which frustrated Jess all the more.

Dean was sick of it, himself. He had inadvertently become the shoulder for both parties to cry on. Jess vented when they were in the Impala, and John did the same when they had stopped to rest.

They still hadn't found Sam.

They were three nights into the search when Dean sat with his father in their room for the night listening to more complaints. Jess had her own room next door.

"It's disrespectful," John was telling Dean. "She acts like she has some special claim on Sam. We're his family, Dean, not her."

Dean grunted in response, learning long ago that his opinion didn't really matter in this.

"Dean…"

"What, Dad?"

"You said we needed her. Why?"

Dean had regretted saying that as soon as it had fallen out of his mouth. Yes, it got John to put up with Jess' presence, but it came with a heavy trade-off. He knew his dad wouldn't react well to Jess having strange psychic powers, but he also couldn't just refuse to tell John about it.

"She's important to Sam, okay? And trust me, if we tried to leave her, it would only make our lives more difficult."

John shook his head. "That's not everything."

"Dad…"

"Tell me the truth, Dean. I'm your father; you can't keep secrets from me."

Dammit. He so couldn't deal with this right now.

"Look, I'll talk to Jess," Dean tried. "Get her to keep the smart remarks down. And maybe if you were a little nicer to her, she'd loosen up and—"

"Dean, it's not my job to be _nice _to her! She's a stranger. I don't owe her anything."

"_I _owe her," Dean shot back. "We've fought together. She's saved my life, and Sam's. She's like my sister, okay?"

"Dean," John growled.

"What?"

He didn't respond.

Raw silence pulsed between them, marking a dichotomy that had never existed between then before. Then, it was dispersed by frantic pounding at their door.

"Dean!" Jess called, her voice muffled by the barrier.

Dean took two steps over to the door and swung it open. Jess stood there in sweats and sock feet, hair wild and eyes wilder.

"What's wrong, Jess?" Dean demanded, glancing beyond her to check out the parking lot. It was empty and silent, no sign of danger.

"It's Sam," she replied. "There's something wrong—" She broke off suddenly, crying out and clutching her head.

"Damn. Get in here, Jess." Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room as gently as he could. She stumbled along blindly, dropping onto the closest bed.

"What's going on?" John demanded.

"I don't know," Dean answered shortly. "Jess, what's wrong? Is Sam okay?"

"I don't know," Jess whimpered. "I've never felt—ahh! Dammit! Make it stop!"

"Dean—"

"Jess, are they torturing him? Is that what's happening?"

Jess shook her head. Her eyes were scrunched closed. "No, it's not physical pain. Or, I don't think it is." She raised her head and looked up at him. "I've never felt anything like it before, Dean." Then, her face crumpled again and she let out another sob.

"Dean, you need to tell me what's happening," John insisted.

Jess was hunched over, taking jerky breaths and pressing her hands over her face. She was clearly not capable of talking right now, so Dean made the decision for her.

"Jess is psychic," Dean confessed. "It's a side effect of the demon. She's got, like, empathy or something. She can sense people's emotions or physical sensations. The connection she's got with Sam is a lot stronger than anyone else's and she's been using it to keep tabs on him."

A scream ripped through the room as Jess gripped her scalp tightly.

"She needs to break the connection," John instructed.

Jess sobbed. "Then we won't know if Sam—"

"We don't know what's wrong with Sam right now anyway," John snapped. "This… connection might have been an advantage at first, but now it's preventing us from doing our job. Break it."

"I can't—"

Dean yanked Jess' hand away from her hair and squeezed it as tightly as he could.

"Focus on me, Jess," he encouraged.

Her blonde hair had covered her face, but it swayed gently as she took in a shaking breath. There was another, slower and steadier, before she used her free hand to push back her hair. She sat up straight, face pale.

"Okay." She announced.

Deam moved to take his hand away, but she tugged it back.

"Not yet," she shook her head. "If you take it away, I'll just…"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "No problem."

"So what was that?" John interrogated.

Jess held onto Dean's hand even tighter. "I don't know," she replied. "I've never felt it before."

"You feel emotions?" John pressed on, his face carefully schooled.

"And physical sensations. Like how Dean hasn't been sleeping enough."

"_None_ of us have been sleeping enough," Dean replied.

"So what was it this time? Physical or emotional?"

Jess frowned, thinking deeply. "I don't…"

"Which was it, Jessica?" John pushed.

"Dad, just give her a minute, okay?" Dean was starting to feel a sort of exhausted panic leak into him, and he was sure it had to be from Jess. She emotionally taxed right now, and her newest untested ability was starting to make itself known.

"Dean, this is important."

"It hurt him, somehow," Jess explained shakily. "But it was deeper than that. We need to leave. Now. If we pick up our pace maybe—"

"That plan isn't working," John cut in coldly. "We need to try a new tactic."

"Like what?" Jess asked blankly.

"Try to get a step ahead of it," he answered. "I've been doing some research. There's a site in Wyoming that looks promising."

"Wyoming?"

"And on the way," John continued over Jess' protest, "I want to stop in on an old friend of mine. There's something I think he has that we'll need."

"We can't just run off to wherever we _think_ the demon will take Sam! What if we're wrong?"

"We're not going to get ahead with what we're doing now," John shot back. "All we're doing is tailing the demon; we're never going to catch up. By the time we find Sam, they'll have finished with him."

Jess lifted her chin and stared John right in the eye. "I'm not going to give up on him."

The expression that grew on John's face was enough to make Dean cower, even if it wasn't directed at him.

"How _dare_ you assume that I'm giving up on him? You waltz in here demanding all this special treatment while you've been keeping secrets this whole time! I'm his _father_—"

"Who hasn't talked to his son in four years!" Jess spat. "You disowned him because he got a _scholarship_. You can say that you care for him all you want; Sam's always thought that you hated him."

That had crossed a line.

"Jess," Dean reproached.

John put up a hand. "Don't bother, Dean. I can tell this isn't going to work. I have to go meet Elkins. Push him a little harder for the truth."

"Dad…"

"You stay here, son," John ordered. "I want you on this. We'll keep each other posted. It's best for everyone this way."

He grabbed his unopened overnight bag.

"Wait, Dad," Dean caught his father as he strode out the door.

"Let me go, Dean," John told him as the door shut behind them. "This is for the best."

"Jess should've have questioned you like that," Dean growled. "It wasn't her place."

John frowned for a moment, then sighed deeply. "She has a point," he admitted.

"What?"

"Following that truck really is our best clue," John explained. "Everything else is little more than speculation."

"But—"

"Dean, splitting up right now is a smart move," John advised. "We need to approach this from different angles. And although I don't trust Jessica to plan my hunt, if you trust her to watch your back then it's good enough for me." He opened the door of his truck and tossed his bag in. "Give me a call every five hours, you hear?"

"You don't have to go," Dean told him, trying not to sound like he was pleading. "Look, Jess is—"

"Difficult," John supplied. "Who would've expected anything less from Sammy's girl?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled.

"So: every five hours, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"We'll find Sam, Dean. I promise."

Dean set his jaw as his father drove away. They had been searching for the man for months. Letting him drive away was felt like giving up on everything he had been working on. But dwelling on it wouldn't help him find Sam. Instead he set his shoulders and went back into the motel room.

Jess looked absolutely miserable. She sat on one of the beds, hugging her knees.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I didn't mean to make him leave."

Dean shook his head. "He would have left eventually anyway," he decided. Even if Jess had fallen completely in line, John simply wasn't comfortable with inviting a new person into their family hunt yet. With the stakes this high, splitting up had been inevitable.

"Yeah, but maybe we still would've been on speaking terms," Jess grumbled. "I don't know what it is about the guy; he just has a way of getting under my skin."

"You're a lot like Sam in that way," Dean observed. "All three of you have this stubborn streak engrained deep down. What's it even like when you and Sam get into a real fight?"

"Not pleasant," Jess admitted. "You really should be thankful that the whole demon thing has kept our minds of things the last few months."

"Yeah, I'm really thankful for that."

Jess smiled sadly. "Dean, have I ever told you how awesome you are?"

Dean blinked, surprised. "Uh… Well, no… But I don't need to be told, Jess, I already know," he grinned.

She chuckled weakly. "No, really, Dean. I don't know if I really appreciated before just how _tight_ your family is. And the fact that you made room for me in it is just really amazing. Thank you." Her eyes were sparkling with moisture.

"Jess…" Dean's voice was husky when he spoke, and he stopped to clear it, blinking quickly in surprise. "Dammit! This is because of your freaky mojo!"

Jess laughed. "How can I psychically make you cry, Dean?"

"It's that weird transmission thing I was talking about! I'm picking up on all of your girl emotions."

"Right, sorry," she rolled her eyes. "I forgot that real men never cry."

"Damn right," Dean asserted, wiping away the last trace of wetness.

"Masculinity back in check?" she solicited.

"Barely," Dean grumbled. "You know, you really are the little sister I never had."

She smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "And here, all this time, I thought it was Sam."

She giggled, but the remembrance of Sam settled over them, dampening the mood.

"Dean, I don't think I'm going to get any sleep tonight," Jess confessed. "I still can't get that awful feeling out of my mind."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He hadn't felt it like Jess had, but if what she went through was just an echo, then he couldn't imagine what Sam was going through. "C'mon: we'll pack up and hit the road."

Sam had stopped keeping track of time using hours or days. It wasn't even stops and starts of the truck or the number of times Azazel visited him.

It was all about the number of demons he had killed.

It had been an unimaginable concept up until his first demon. According to all of the research he had done, demons were impossible to kill. All you could do was send them back to hell and hope it took them a long time to crawl out. But thanks to Azazel, Sam had killed five demons. The first one took the longest, gave him pain like he never experienced before, and left him weak and aching all over, unable to even wipe the blood away from his nose. Each one after was progressively easier to finish off than the last. Since he had been captured, he hadn't been out of the truck at all, and hadn't been fed. They had given him water a few times, and Sam had been so thirsty that he couldn't even bring himself to care that it probably wasn't just water in the cup.

The demon blood was constant throughout it all, a heavy presence looming above him always, just out of reach, and filtering slowly into his body. He wondered if it worked like a virus, slowly infiltrating his body and eating away at everything that was good in him. Perhaps it was paranoia, but he felt as if a little piece of his soul decayed whenever he summoned the power to kill one of the demons Azazel brought him.

Azazel was a good teacher. He instructed Sam on how to squeeze the most juice out of his attacks, how to use the energy that was simmering inside of him, and never let Sam forget that they could easily ensnare Jess and put her exactly in his place. As much as he yearned to have Jess there with him, whispering words in his ear to make it all better, it was the one thing that kept him sane throughout the whole thing. As long as he obeyed, didn't fight back, didn't try to get away, Jess was safe.

The door squealed open, and Sam automatically shut his eyes, knowing from experience that the sudden flash of light would only blind him for longer than he felt comfortable. When he heard the door close, he opened his eyes to see Lilith, not Azazel, in front of him.

"Hi, Sam," she greeted, a sickening grin stretched across her small face.

Sam rolled his shoulders as much as he could while chained. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She had been present at a few of his early sessions with Azazel, but had quickly lost interest and hadn't been around for a while.

"I've been thinking, Sam," she told him pleasantly. "About how much you're learning." She walked up to him, shiny white shoes scuffing the floor of the trailer. "I don't like it," she pronounced, eyes cold.

"Oh…"

"We have a schedule, Sam," she informed him. "Azazel knows it as well as I do. And with the way you're going, you're too far ahead." She reached up and unlocked the cuff around Sam's right wrist.

Sam flexed it gently. Instinct told him to strike now while she was close and vulnerable, but he knew that she would have to be incredibly powerful despite the small form she was inhabiting. It wasn't worth the risk.

"Azazel gets too attached," she continued, working on his left hand. "You're his favourite, you know. But any one of his freaks can do the job." She finished with his hand, and stepped back.

Sam had a bad feeling about whatever it was she was planning. "Where is he now?" Sam asked cautiously. Was he really counting on a demon to protect him? He really was in trouble.

"Gone," Lilith smiled. "Like I said, he's a little too attached to all of you. I stirred up some trouble with another one of you freaks across the country. Should keep him busy for a while. And as for you… You've proven yourself, Sam, but I think it's time for you to go now. We can't get ahead of ourselves here. Maybe when this is all over, I'll see you in hell one day." She giggled. "Oh, wait! I forgot. I'll be up here the whole time. I guess this is goodbye, then."

As she raised her hand in front of her, her eyes turned completely white.


	14. Chapter 14

Two days after John left, the demon's weather pattern disappeared completely from the map.

"Not completely," Dylan corrected Dean over the phone. "It just jumped. Bobby found something that looks similar in Oklahoma."

"Guthrie?" Dean guessed.

"Uh… yeah. How did you know?"

"So after going in a straight line for days it just up and decides to skip over to Oklahoma?" Dean questioned. "Why would it go after Andy now? If he was taking out more psychics, Jess was closer, why not go for her?" As much as he disliked the idea of it going after Jess, they would have had a chance of finding where Sam was.

"I don't know, Dean!" Dylan quivered over the phone. "I'm sorry, I should have been watching better. I should've—"

"No, Dylan, you're doing fine," Dean soothed. "I'm sorry for getting upset. Look, keep watching the satellite images; let me know as soon as anything changes, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay, Dean."

Dean shut his phone and kneaded it into his forehead. His eyes were still closed when Jess slid back into the booth across from him.

"What's up?" she asked.

Of course she knew instantly that something was wrong. She had been concentrating her psychic energies on Dean more and more in order to block out any other attacks Sam was undergoing.

"The demon's gone," he confessed.

"What?" she choked.

"Dylan and Bobby think it might have gone to Oklahoma."

"Where Andy is?" she spat. "Why?"

"I don't know," Dean snapped.

"Well… what do we do now?"

"I don't know," Dean repeated.

He quickly sorted through their options, all of which looked pretty bleak. Staying here was a bust; their only lead had escaped. Going to Oklahoma was a long shot. By the time they got there, the demon would probably have moved on. They were already two states over from where Sam had originally disappeared. Even if they decided to go back and look for more leads, it would put them impossibly far away from ever finding Sam.

"We can try to meet up with your dad," Jess suggested softly.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You'd be willing to do that?"

She gulped in determination. "I would try harder this time," she promised.

"And you would still drive the guy crazy," Dean told her. He spun his phone on the table, thinking through their options. "He wants us to split up anyway; cover more angles. Why don't we head to Oklahoma?"

"That'll take us too long," Jess snapped. "There's no way the demon'll still be there by the time we make it."

"But we can at least pick up some information on where it'll go next."

"We're trying to find Sam, anyway, not the demon," Jess pointed out. "There's no way Sam could have gotten to Oklahoma that fast. He still has to be in the area."

"I know that, Jess, but where the hell is he? We've got no freaking clue!"

"Dean, I—" she cut off suddenly, grabbing Dean's hand tightly. "There's a demon here," she whispered.

Dean resisted the impulse to whip his head around in search, instead ducking it down close to hers. "Where?"

"Behind me?" she guessed. "A little to your right, I think. There's a lot of people; it's hard to tell."

Dean stretched and leaned back in his seat, taking a casual sweeping glance around the room.

He recognized Meg instantly.

"Got it," he murmured to Jess. "Blonde girl in a leather jacket."

"How do you know?" Jess frowned.

"I ran into her when I was driving to Bobby's from your place," Dean explained. "She gave some seriously creepy vibes then, and to have her show up here while you're sensing a demon…?" Dean didn't believe in coincidences.

"We need to corner her," Jess planned, drumming her fingers on the Formica table. "Find out what she knows."

"Yeah, well we better think fast, she's heading out the door."

Jess whipped her head around. "Do you think she spotted us?"

"Not sure. Does it really matter? C'mon, we'll keep behind her and see where she goes." Dean threw a few bills on the table and lead Jess out the door.

Meg circled around the building and headed into the back alley. Dean held back for a moment, and then followed her around the corner.

She was waiting in front of the Impala as they entered the alley, which only increased Dean's uneasiness.

"Well, Dean, it looks like you got the girlfriend after all," she smirked. "Congratulations."

"Something tells me I might have you to thank for that," Dean spoke, inching a little closer. "Where's Sam?"

"Busy," she shrugged. Her eyes flicked to black and then back again. "We've got plans for him."

"What are you doing to him?" Jess demanded.

"Just showing him what he's capable of," Meg replied. "You know he wasn't behaving very well at first. But when he found out that you could take his place, Jessie…" she chuckled. "Well, let's just say he has motivation now."

Jess' hand twitched towards her jacket pocket, but she didn't pull anything out.

"Tell us where he is," Dean growled.

The demon scoffed. "Or what? You've got nothing on me. This is what's going to happen, Dean. In a moment, I'm going to tear the insides out of one of you and leave it in a big pile beside this beautiful car. You can follow me as soon as you've… put yourselves back together. Good luck tracking me down."

"Don't you eben try to touch Jess," Dean warned.

"Dean," Jess murmured, "open the door. Now!"

She darted forward, a flask of holy water in her hand. Dean, obeying on instinct, yanked the passenger door open as Jess splashed Meg. The demon cried out and fell back. Jess kicked Meg into the car and slammed the door closed.

"What the hell, Jess?" Dean demanded, viewing the furious demon. "Why'd you stick her in my car?"

"I drew a devil's trap on the roof in back," she panted.

"You drew on my car?" Dean shouted.

"Really? You're going to get upset about me saving our asses? She's trapped!"

"In my car!" he raged. "Do you have any idea what sort of damage she could do?"

"She can tell us where to find Sam!"

Meg hissed from her backseat prison.

He pointed a finger at her. "If you so much as touch the upholstery, I'll send your ass straight back to hell," Dean vowed.

"You're kidding yourself if you think I'm going to say anything," Meg scoffed.

"I'll douse you with enough holy water to drown a fish," Jess promised.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Please. Nothing you can do would be worse than what Azazel'll do to me if he found out I betrayed him."

Dean frowned. "Azazel?"

Meg sighed in exasperation. "The demon you've been hunting all this time? Pathetic that after twenty years you didn't even know his name. That one was a pity gift to you. You won't get anything else out of me."

"Not even demons will hold out indefinitely," Dean threatened.

"Yeah, and neither will Sam," Meg smirked. "Something tells me that he's on a tighter timeline than I am."

"You bitch!" Jess bent down and leaned close to the car window. "Tell us where Sam is."

The sneer the demon wore hung in place for a moment longer, and then her expression crumpled. "W-what are you doing?" Meg asked with a trembling voice. "Make it stop!"

"No," Jess replied flatly, never taking her eyes off their captive.

Meg's eyes flickered black and her fingers curled reflexively. "Please!"

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded, pushing down the churning mixture of icy determination and hot guilt that flooded him.

"What I did to Max," Jess answered. "At least it feels the same."

"You're making her feel scared?" Dean wondered. "She's a demon; she can't feel human emotion."

"But the host can," Jess explained, talking over a sob that ripped out of Meg. "Can you imagine how terrifying it would be to feel that kind of emotion after being a heartless sociopath you entire existence?"

"Shit! Make it stop," Meg begged.

"Tell us where Sam is," Jess intoned.

"You think I'm just going to—ah! Dammit! Okay, I'll tell you, I promise. J-just… stop the…."

Jess' shoulders relaxed fractionally, but she didn't lift her gaze from her quarry. "Start talking," she demanded.

Lilith surveyed Sam with cool calculation that looked completely out of place on her little-girl host. An ethereal glow charged up from her, and with a twisted smile, she shot it in Sam's direction.

Nothing happened.

Sam blinked, confused. He checked around him for other signs of damage, but found none. What the hell just happened?

Equally confused, Lilith frowned.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," she pouted. The glow built up again, but Sam didn't even flinch when it shot in his direction. "Oh, Azazel, you _sneak_."

"What's happening?" Sam asked, swaying where he stood. After days of being chained up, he barely had the energy to stand on his own power.

"Well, turns out that getting your own brand of Gatorade make you a little more resistant that the average human," Lilith shrugged. "But there are always other ways to get my way, Sammy."

She narrowed her cold eyes at Sam and started to walk towards him.

As much as she looked like a small girl, Sam knew that he would be physically no match for this demon. She wanted him dead, and would be successful if he didn't try _something_. So he dipped into the ever expanding pool of energy that churned chaotically within him. He reached out, found the pulsing source of Lilith's power and _squeezed_.

She broke off her approach, panting. "No," she gasped. "You're not supposed to-"

Sam squeezed again; harder. His pulse climbed and he felt hot all over. She cried out and sank to the floor, white energy crackling through her.

"It's not supposed to be yet!" she panted. "You can't—"

Sam gripped her as tight as he could. His blood was pounding; he could hardly see any more. Every blood vessel within him was tight; ready to burst. Still, he pushed even harder. Her body shuddered and flashed on the ground. Sam held tight until it went still and dark.

Lilith was dead.

Sam swayed and stumbled into the wall of the truck trailer. His ears were ringing and every muscle in his body had melted, just barely kept within the container of his skin. The girl who had hosted Lilith lay crumpled on the floor of the trailer. Her white dress fanned out from her small legs.

She was probably dead. Sam tried to muster the energy to go check, but everything seemed so faded around him, and his body felt so heavy. Slumping against the dusty wall, he blinked slowly and tried to pull himself together.

Lilith wasn't the only demon he had to worry about. There were the two who had been bringing in all of the demons Sam had killed, and then Azazel himself, who wouldn't be gone for long. Lilith might have come alone just now, but the others wouldn't be far off.

Sam pushed himself up off the wall and stumbled towards the door of the trailer. Then, he heard a car drive up from the highway and park. He froze, leaning against the wall again.

The engine sounded familiar. Could it possibly be…?

"Who's all inside there?" a gravelly voice asked.

"How the hell should I know?" came the testy response. "I've been following your sorry asses ever since you got into town."

"Shut up," a female cut in.

Sam still had to remain calm. It could be a trap; he shouldn't get his hopes up.

"Hello?" he called out. The sound rubbed through rusty vocal chords.

"Sam?"

It was Jess, Sam was sure of it. The door to the trailer thundered as someone pounded against it.

"Sam, stand back from the door," Dean ordered. A gun sounded, with the punch of metal being broken, and the door swung open.

Sam couldn't see anything at first: the light was too bright. He felt, rather, Jess' slender calloused hands running through his hair and cradling his face. Dean was taking charge of the rest of his body, checking expertly for any injuries.

"Well, this is very touching," a voice smirked from the entrance. "But I think I'm going to take off before someone gets me killed."

Sam blearily made out the form of the blonde demon from before standing outside the truck. She tipped her head back and black smoke rocketed from her mouth, dissipating before anyone could react. The host collapsed instantly.

"Damn," Dean swore softly. But he didn't waste much time before turning back to Sam. "Are you alright? What did they do?" he demanded.

"Wait," Sam stopped him, the demon's exit making him think of something. "Do you have your charm?"

"Sammy, you know I'm always charming." Dean pulled out the charm Bobby had given them, and Jess did the same.

They had really found him; rescued him. Jess was there with her hair in the rattiest nest he had ever seen; Dean had deep purple bags collected under his eyes. Yet they were collectively the best sight Sam had even seen. He felt like he was floating. All the light and love and care that filled the trailer had all but banished the horror of the past few days.

"Sam, what did they do to you?" Jess asked worriedly.

"They… Look, can we just not talk about this right now?" He just wanted a moment to enjoy the eye of the shit storm they were in.

"Sam, I felt something a couple days ago," Jess persisted. "It was _awful_. And now…."

"What is it?" Dean demanded.

"Something's off," Jess spoke to Dean. "He's not possessed or anything. He's still Sam, but he feels…" Her voice tightened.

Sam's stomach flopped over. "The demon blood," he muttered.

"What?" Dean barked.

"They gave me more demon blood," Sam answered more clearly. "A lot more. And then, I had to—"

A groan from outside the truck made Sam stop. Jess stood and peered over the edge.

"She's still alive!" Jess shouted, jumping off the edge and out of sight.

Sam struggled to stand up. Dean offered a bracing hand.

"Sam," he spoke quietly. "What's in the corner?"

Lilith's body. "Another demon host," Sam replied. "I thought she was dead, but…"

Dean took a few quick steps further into the trailer, bent down to check on the broken form, and stood up after only a moment, shaking his head tersely.

"If Jess doesn't notice, we don't need to tell her," Sam murmured to Dean.

Dean nodded as Jess called to them.

"I could use some help here!" She was supporting the young woman in her arms, who was groaning and slowly standing up. "Can you tell us your name?" Jess asked gently.

"Meg Masters," the girl replied in a thin voice.

"Okay, Meg, you're going to be fine," Dean soothed. He jumped down from the truck and stepped towards her. "You're safe now."

Meg frowned, and then wrenched herself free from Jess' hold. "You… you hurt me!" she accused, pointing at Jess.

Jess flinched back like she had been slapped.

Meg turned to Sam. "And you… Are you like those other people? Like the one that was inside of me?"

"No," Sam protested. "I'm not. I swear."

"I… I remember some stuff…"

"Meg, we need to get you to a hospital," Dean coaxed. "You've had a big shock."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" she screamed, stumbling further back. "I don't know you! Just… Can you just leave? Please?"

"We can't leave you here," Dean persisted. "We'll just drop you off at the nearest hospital, I promise. Okay? Then we'll be out of your life forever. But we can't just leave you on the side of the highway."

She trembled, looking incredibly frail in comparison to the demon who was wearing her just moments before. "Okay," she agreed finally.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Dean announced, holding out an arm for Meg.

"Here," Jess offered to Sam, holding out an arm of her own.

Sam took it shamelessly, stumbling down from the truck. He still felt weak and off balance. He needed food, and something to drink. Given that, a shower, and a good night's sleep, he could recover.

Right?

"Jess, what did you mean when you said I felt off?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she fretted. "Sam, what did they do to you?"

"Not right now," Sam stalled, glancing at the nervous girl ahead of them. "I'll tell you when we've taken care of Meg."

Meg had stiffened as they approached the Impala, but relaxed minutely when Dean opened the passenger door for her.

"You got Sam in the back?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Jess nodded, guiding Sam in and sitting close beside him.

Nothing compared to the feeling of sinking into the seat of the Impala. With his brother at the wheel and Jess by his side, it was coming home in every possible sense.

"What happened to the seat?" Sam wondered, tracing his fingers along several deep rents in the back of the front bench seat.

"Gone to the better good," Dean growled, starting the engine. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But why—"

"He really doesn't want to talk about it," Jess cut in. "It's still a sensitive subject, even though it paid off in the end and was totally justified."

"Weren't you two listening? I _said_ I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam smiled. "We heard you."

"Good. Now try to get some sleep. Bitch."

The car crunched over the gravel road, and as it merged with the highway traffic, Sam let the familiar vibrations carry him off into sleep. Everything would be better when he woke up.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean had barely slowed down in front of the ER entrance when Meg began fumbling with the door of the car.

"Hold on a sec," Dean requested as he put the vehicle in park. "I'll help—"

"No," Meg insisted firmly. "Just… I don't want to have you here. I can take care of myself."

"Wait," Dean commanded.

She paused, leaning on the frame of the car door. Dean stuck his hand in his jacket and pulled out one of his many fake business cards.

"Call if you need anything," he offered.

Meg glanced at it briefly. "You're not a Park Ranger," she commented flatly.

"No, but the number's still good."

"Fine," she agreed, her voice fading in with the traffic around the drop-off zone.

In normal circumstances, Dean wouldn't be comfortable letting her just walk away like that. Although the hospital could probably take care of her physically, the emotional stress of being possessed wasn't exactly something they were equipped for without it leading to rubber rooms and lots of drugs.

But as Meg stumbled through the automatic doors, Dean found himself pulling away without a single glance backwards. He had a bigger concern in his backseat.

"How's he doing?" he asked Jess, sparing a glance backwards before turning onto the main road.

"Sleeping," Jess replied softly. "He's got a fever. He'll need some water and food when he wakes up, too."

"We'll drive out for a while before we decide to stop," Dean decided. Sam being sick or not, he wanted to get as far away from that trailer as possible. Sam had gotten rid of one demon, and the one possessing Meg had disappeared, but Azazel was still on the loose, and Dean really didn't want to hang around for him.

Dean barely paid attention to where he was driving, heading vaguely west, the direction his father had taken. Jess had found an unopened water bottle rolling around in the back and had given Sam a few sips from it throughout the drive.

"The fever's still going up," Jess reported.

"Is it brain-melting yet?"

"I don't think so."

"Then we'll drive a little further."

They finally stopped at an isolated motel; Dean and Jess hauled Sam inside and dumped him onto the bed. He was flushed and sweaty. Jess wasted no time in getting a damp cloth from the bathroom and wiping Sam's face as Dean pulled off the kid's shoes.

"He feels cooler," Jess announced.

"That could've been worse," Dean mused, pulling Sam's jacket off next. All of clothing was dirty and smelly, which was only to be expected.

Sam stayed knocked out while they cleaned him up as best they could and tucked the blankets around him.

Jess smiled at Sam, and then to Dean. The deep fatigue settling in her eyes was almost drowned out by the light of that smile.

"We rescued him, Dean," she whispered, stroking Sam's hair.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, sagging against the wall. Sam was safe again.

"Get some sleep, Jess," he commanded, kicking off his own boots.

When he woke up, it took Sam a long time to realize that his surroundings were real. He was lying in a bed with cool evening light filtering through the window. Instead of cuffs constraining him, he had Jess' limbs flung over top of him. With some wriggling and gentle tugging, he was able to extricate himself from her hold, and sit up on the edge of the bed.

The blinds to the window were open, and Sam could see Dean outside looking in, cellphone pressed to his ear and lips moving soundlessly.

He hauled himself up, swaying slightly at the surge of light headedness. He was starving.

Dean was still talking by the time Sam made his way outside.

He felt a wave of dizziness as he crossed the threshold, but felt better as soon as the night air hit his face.

"He's up now," Dean spoke into the phone. "Looks like hell, though. Yeah, I'll call you later."

"Who was that?"

"Dad," Dean replied, snapping his phone closed.

"He's been in touch?"

"You were missing, Sam. He met up with us as soon as he heard. He only split off because he had his own lead to follow and having two crappy plans was better than just one crappy plan."

Sam took a couple steps over to sit against the car, not trusting his legs to hold him up. "He met Jess?"

"Yeah. They get along about as well as you and Dad do."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I sort of expected that."

"They can work it out, Sam. Dad's coming out to meet us. Says he's got something good this time. We'll meet him in a couple days."

Sam nodded silently. His hands rested on the hood of the Impala, stroking the smooth metal.

Dean walked around to the side of the car, pulled out a paper bag, and shut the door.

"Here," he presented to Sam. "It's soup. Figured you probably haven't eaten much these last few days."

"Thanks," Sam accepted. It was still warm, with steam rising out of the Styrofoam container. He lifted a dribbling spoonful to his lips and swallowed it thankfully. His stomach groaned with pleasure, and he forced himself to go slow. Anything else would make him sick.

Sam was half-finished the bowl when Dean spoke again.

"So…"

"Yeah?" He took another spoonful. He knew what Dean wanted to ask, of course, but he couldn't help trying to stall it just a little bit longer.

"What happened, Sam?" Dean asked, biting the bullet.

Sam stirred the vegetables floating in the broth, watching the colours swirl around.

"Azazel gave me his blood," he answered quietly.

"You told us that already. Why did he give you more? What did he want from you?"

Sam shook his head, not wanting to go further.

"Hey. Sam. You can tell me," Dean urged. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. But I have to know what it is first."

Sam set the container of soup down, and folded his arms together to ward off the cold. "He… he wanted to make me stronger. That's what the blood was for. And then he made me use those powers."

"What, like the visions and stuff?"

"Not… exactly."

"Well, then what exactly?"

"Controlling demons," Sam confessed. "At first, it was exorcising them, but then he had me just kill them outright."

"Hold on, what? You _killed_ demons?"

"That girl in the truck? I killed the demon that was using her as a host."

"Sam…"

"I know, Dean, okay? It's seriously shady. But if I hadn't done it, Azazel would've gone after Jess and tried to make her do the same." In the clear light of freedom and proper sleep and nutrition, Sam wasn't even sure if he had made the right call.

"Hey, Sam." Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. "I get it. You did what you had to do to protect Jess."

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

"It's what I would have done," Dean added.

And that simple act of affirmation was exactly what Sam needed then. Just to know that his brother understood what he was going through. It was how Dean had always supported him, no matter what was going on.

"I'm sorry we stopped talking," Sam blurted out.

"Huh?"

Sam winced, regretting his outburst. But it needed to be said; they had been ignoring the subject for too long. "When I was at Stanford," he clarified. "When we just… stopped calling each other. I shouldn't have done that."

"Wasn't your fault, Sam," Dean shrugged.

"But it was, partially," he pushed on. "I let myself get so wrapped up in everything there… I told myself that it was because you wouldn't understand, but really I think it was just because I wanted to live in my pretend world just a little bit longer."

"It wasn't all your fault," Dean grumbled. "You're not the only one who stopped calling."

"Yeah, but…"

"And, hey, you ended up getting Jess out of it. Not a total loss."

"No," Sam smiled. "I guess not."

"She's been wearing your ring, you know," Dean commented.

"Really?" Sam's engagement had all but faded from his mind, but now it was swirling back into focus.

"Yeah. And just so you know: I've already started planning the bachelor party. It's going to be kick-ass."

The door to their room creaked as it swung open to reveal a rumpled Jess wrapped up in a blanket.

"Come back inside," she beckoned. "It's cold out there."

But it was the Impala, something that Jess might never appreciate as much as Sam and his brother did, so Sam waved Jess over instead.

"Come out here," he offered.

She scowled, but stuffed her bare feet into her boots before shuffling out the door. Sam scooted over to make room for her, and she snuggled in close to him, still wrapped in the blanket.

"What are you talking about?" she murmured, still sounding sleepy.

"Getting married," Sam told her. "Dean wants to know the date so he can plan the bachelor party."

"With our lives? We'll probably get married in some express chapel as we run out of town with demons on our tail. Our honeymoon will be spent hiding out in a mouldy motel room with your brother." She paused, and then lifted her head to glance at Dean. "No offense."

"Because I'm such a generous guy, I'll spring for you two to have a separate room," Dean offered. "Consider it my wedding gift to you."

"More practical than an electric mixer," Sam pointed out.

"Oh, goody," she rolled her eyes.

She squeezed Sam a little tighter, and Sam shuffled a little closer to her.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What did that demon want with you?"

Sam hesitated.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about it," she comforted. "But I'm betting you already told Dean, and I need to know as well."

"Azazel was teaching me to control demons," Sam explained. "Exorcising them. Killing them."

"You can't kill demons," Jess replied automatically.

"Apparently, if you've got the right juice, you can," Dean shot back.

"That would take some serious power," she commented dubiously.

And Sam remembered what she had said when they first found him.

"Jess, that thing you felt in me," Sam spoke. "You said there was something different. It's got to be the powers I have now. And all that blood…" The comfort he had felt with Dean was quickly draining. Right call or not, he had let some dark stuff into his body. He knew the power still rested within him; he could feel it churning in his gut.

"It's doesn't change who you are," Jess insisted stubbornly. "Yeah, I sense… something but—"

"You still feel it?" Sam wondered nervously. "It hasn't faded or anything?"

"No, Sam, but you're still you," she insisted.

"They put demon blood inside of me. Lots of it. I've probably got more of that than human stuff right now."

"But you're still human inside," Dean insisted. "Here, you don't believe us?" He pulled out the flask he used to store holy water.

Sam watched as his brother uncapped it and splashed some on his arm.

The water burned like acid and Sam watched in horror as a red mark rose up where the water had made contact with his skin. He stumbled off the car and backed into the wall of the motel, holding his hand out as if he could just detach it from the rest of his body.

"Well." Dean blinked. "I didn't really expect that."

"Stay back!" Sam commanded. "You don't know—"

"Sam, it's still you," Jess insisted, somehow managing to look serious with a blanket and a baggy Stanford t-shirt.

"I'm not," Sam insisted. "You saw… you saw what happened."

"Jess, you're sure?" Dean asked.

"Yes," she snapped. "I know Sam. I can tell, okay?"

"Okay," Dean nodded.

"I don't understand," she fretted. "The interior of the car's warded. How was he okay back there?"

"Had a fever," Dean reminded her. "Maybe it's some kind of low-grade reaction due to all the blood in his system? The fever and the rash could be how his body's working it out."

Jess nodded, and then turned to Sam. "Do you hear that, Sam? That's all it is." She took a couple steps towards him, but Sam pushed himself even further against the wall.

"You can't know that for sure," Sam rambled. "I could turn. I could hurt you… or Dean… You should just…"

"What, kill you?" Dean scoffed. "Not happening, Sam. We wasted far too much time rescuing you."

"Then just leave me, Dean," Sam pleaded. "I can do the rest by myself."

"We're not doing that, Sam," Dean insisted. In two steps he was right in front of Sam, his hands forcing his brother to look at him. "Listen to me," he commanded. "You may not trust yourself right now. And that's fair, sure. But you can trust Jess, right?"

Jess was standing a few paces away with tangled hair tumbling in every direction and her bottom lip pinched tightly between her teeth.

"Y-yeah," Sam agreed.

"Okay. And she says you're still you. So that means you're still you."

Sam looked between Dean, who still had a tight grip on his face, to Jess, who shivered slightly in the cold.

"Okay," he finally agreed.

Dean relaxed, and let go of Sam.

"But if you notice anything…" Sam added.

"I'll watch out," Jess promised. "But you'll be fine, Sam." She reached for his hand and gently lifted it up to the light. The rash was still visible, angry, red, and itching. "Let's get that cleaned up," she suggested softly.

Sam felt the same wave of dizziness as they passed through the doorway again. He was sure that if he lifted the entrance mat he would see a devil's trap drawn onto the floor. It didn't try to bind him in place at all; he just felt feverish as he passed through it.

They settled back into their room, and Sam watched with detachment as Jess spread ointment on his hand and wrapped it up loosely.

"We should see what else affects me," he suggested.

"Sam, we're not going to play a game of 'I Dare You'," Dean frowned. "For now, just stay away from anything you think might hurt you."

"What, are you afraid of what we're going to find?"

"Don't be an ass, Sam," Jess chided. "We just don't want to hurt you."

"Look, we need to be prepared," Sam reasoned. "I don't want to be finding out stuff when we've got demons chasing after us."

There was a beat of silence before Jess spoke.

"Fine," she agreed shortly, grabbing the canister of salt from their supplies bag. "We'll test you."

Sam observed in horrified fascination as salt, an exorcism, and 'Christo' all caused his body to react in some way, usually, a spike in feverish temperature. The salt caused his skin to react in the same way as the holy water, although Jess brushed it off before it became as severe.

"Jess, are you _sure_—"

"Yes, I am, Sam," she replied testily. "I _know _you."

"Well, then, what's the explanation? Just the… blood in me reacting?"

"Make sense," Dean ground out, having been very quiet throughout the whole process.

"No, it doesn't," Sam challenged. "I've never had a problem with holy water before. Neither has Jess."

"We're talking the difference between a drop years ago verses a lot of it just hours ago," Dean pointed out. "There's bound to be a difference."

"Regardless, we're flying blind here," Sam claimed. "We need more information."

"What, you want to call Bobby?" Jess asked.

"You think he's ever heard of something like this before?" Sam wondered.

"I'm not sure…" Jess wondered. "The best would be for us to drive up and see him in person, but I don't think we can risk that right now. Azazel would have to know that you're gone by now, Sam. He's going to be searching for us harder than he ever has."

Sam could picture Azazel right now, coming into the trailer and finding Lilith's abandoned body. He wasn't sure how the demon would react. They didn't seem to like each other at all, but they were still working together. Finding your partner dead would certainly have some sort of effect.

"I killed Lilith," Sam announced out loud.

Dean frowned. "That demon in the truck?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "She was pretty powerful. Had tricks that no demon's ever had before. And I still killed her."

"What are you saying, Sam?" Jess asked cautiously.

"If I can kill Lilith, then what's stopping me from killing Azazel?"

"Sam, Azazel must be pretty powerful," Jess cautioned.

"She seemed to be equals with Azazel," Sam remembered. "And she was surprised when I killed her. I don't think she knew I could do it."

"But Sam, we're talking some pretty serious mojo, here," Dean argued. "This is stuff you don't mess with by choice."

"Do you have a better idea?" Sam questioned. "Cause from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like we've got any other options."

"Sam…" Jess hesitated.

"Look, I'm not suggesting we summon the demon to this room and have me try to take it out, okay?" Sam explained. "I'm just saying that it might be an option as a last resort."

It would give them something, because, dangerous or not, they were getting close to needing that last resort.

A/N: Just a note that yes, I have gone a little (more) AU in this chapter with some of the mythology of the show. Just me having some fun playing with the characters, and so while Sam's side effects may not be canon, they are interesting for me to write.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Wow, sorry for the late update, everyone! Good news is, this is the last chapter with just the epilogue to be posted. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I hope you enjoy.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They were on the road early next morning. Dean had made the executive decision to leave, and Jess agreed that they should stay in one place as little as possible. Dean passed them through a drive through on their way out of town for coffee and breakfast, and Jess' breakfast burrito tasted better than anything she had eaten in the days Sam had been missing.

"Melted cheese is literally liquid gold," she announced from her place in the backseat, pausing in her feast only to take a sip of her coffee.

Sam gave her a pale smile in return.

"You still don't look good," Jess frowned.

"What's that?" Dean spared a glance at his brother as well. He smacked his hand against Sam's forehead. "You're sweating, dude," Dean complained.

"Well quit rubbed your hand all over me and it won't be a problem," Sam replied, shoving Dean's arm away.

"You shouldn't be feeling sick," Jess worried. "We got rid of all the wards in the car."

"Yeah, well, I guess I've got a new brand of freakishness we have to deal with now," Sam grumbled. "What else is new?"

"Sammy…" Dean growled.

"Don't talk like that, Sam," Jess frowned. "You're probably just plain old ordinary sick. After everything you went through, it's not that much of a stretch."

"You think so?" Sam wondered sceptically.

"Yes," Jess answered affirmatively. After everything they had been through, it would suck to have to get sick, but that reasoning was better than anything else.

A couple hours later, though, and Jess was being proved wrong. Sam's fever only climbed, and he felt too sick to eat anything when they stopped for lunch.

"It's the flu," Jess insisted doggedly.

"Whatever," Sam mumbled, burying as far into his jacket as possible.

He got progressively worse as they drove. He shifted around restlessly in his seat, jiggling his leg and tapping his fingers. It was midafternoon when Dean glanced over at his brother again.

"Stop that, Sam," he commanded.

"It's itchy," Sam shot back, scratching at the same spot on his arm.

Dean stiffened his jaw and switched lanes to get to the next turn off.

"What's going on?" Jess demanded.

"He's not sick," Dean announced, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

"What do you mean?" Jess wondered.

"It's withdrawal," Dean answered shortly.

Sam huffed. "Dean, m'not _addicted_—"

"No, I know you're not some junky, Sam," Dean cut in. "But all that blood Azazel gave you did some weird crap to your body, okay? And it's working its way out, but in the meantime everything's going haywire. Hey! Stop picking at that."

Sam's hand skittered away from the bandage on his arm.

"Where're we going?" Sam asked dimly.

"Hospital?" Jess wondered.

"What, we're gonna tell them that Sam's coming off of hell spawn? We go there, all they'll do is mistreat him. We need to find a place to lay low for a while; Sam's going to get worse, and I sure as hell don't want to be on the road when that happens."

They stopped at the next motel they found, some sort of trucker stop marooned on its own just off the highway. Jess dealt with the surly desk attendant while Dean put in a call to his father to update him on the situation.

"He's not far away," Dean filled Jess in. "He'll be here in an hour or two. Said he had something big for us."

"What is it?" Jess demanded.

"How should I know?" Dean shrugged. "He's not going to say over the phone. C'mon, Sammy, up and at'em."

Sam was hauled to his feet and Dean helped him stumble to their room for the night. It smelled mildewy, and the mirror in the bathroom had a network of cracks through it. Sam huddled on the bed, and Jess eased his jacket and shoes off while Dean started piling on blankets.

"M'fine," Sam mumbled, weakly slapping her hands away.

"Sure," Jess scoffed.

"Here." Dean handed her a handful of Tylenol and a glass of water. She selected a few pills from the bunch and passed them onto Sam along with the water. His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips.

The next hour was one of the worst of Jess' life. Sam's fever climbed, and the additional symptom of crippling muscle spasms was added to the mix.

"We might have to strap him down," Dean informed her, lips tight.

"What? He's not going to hurt us, Dean."

"He could hurt himself," Dean explained. "Do you think you can hold him down if he starts seizing?"

"But…"

"I don't like it any more than you do, Jess." The, he turned to his brother. "Sam? You understand?"

"N-not yet," Sam shivered. "If you have to… But not yet."

Dean face softened a degree. "Yeah, Sammy. Of course."

There was a knock on the door to their room, so Jess grabbed her gun sitting by the table and approached cautiously.

"Hello?" she called out.

"It's me," came the terse reply. "Open the door."

Jess recognized the voice and the swirl of emotional turmoil surrounding it. She took a step forward to flip the bolt and swung the door open, backing up as she went.

John Winchester strode into the room, banging the door shut behind him.

"How's Sam?" he demanded.

"Wait," Dean stopped him. "Jess?"

She took a moment to observe John, scanning through recognizable emotions quickly and with ease.

"He's fine," she nodded. "No demon possession."

John frowned, and Jess suspected it was probably because he missed the opportunity to be the first to remind everyone how ferociously they were all being hunted.

"You got those charms still?" he grunted.

Jess fished hers out from underneath her collar while Dean did the same.

"Sam's was taken, but he's clear," Jess explained.

"Sam," John breathed, taking a step towards the bed where Sam laid.

Jess had had her doubts about John's feelings for his son, but they were all definitely put to rest with the cascade of complex emotions that hit her. Fear, worry, anger, nervousness, guilt and bone-deep love all collided together in a cocktail that gave her buzzing headache.

"Dad." Sam struggled to sit up and pushed some of the covers off of him. Sweat glistened off his brow and his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Don't get up, Sam," John commanded. Then, he turned to Dean. "I thought you said he was all right. He looks like he should be in the hospital."

The heat of embarrassed self-righteousness wafted up from Dean, and Jess was about to jump in when Sam spoke up himself.

"I'm okay, Dad. Just a fever and lack of food and water; it's not like the demons gave me three squares. Okay?" There was no mention of the demon blood, and there was no way Jess was going to bring it up herself. Dean didn't mention it either.

John, however, seemed perfectly satisfied with the explanation.

"Rest up, Sam," he commanded. "I'll need you at the top of your game. We're _this _close to ending this whole thing."

"Really?" Dean took a step towards his father, always the eager soldier. "How?"

"I've got a gun," John announced. He reached into the folds of his jacket and carefully pulled out an antique gun that looked easily over a hundred years old. The barrel was long and black, and it held a certain elegance that Jess' own compact handgun was missing. "Created by Samuel Colt himself. It's said that it's able to kill anything."

"Anything?" Jess wondered, speaking before she could stop herself.

"Even demons," John nodded.

Before he could continue, Sam arched back and cried out loudly, twisting in the sheets.

"Sam!" Jess grabbed onto his clammy hand with one of her own, using the other to brush aside his damp hair. "Are you okay?"

"Hurts," he whispered, which was enough to make the bottom drop out of her stomach. If Sam was in enough pain to admit it like that, he must really be hurting.

"Drink some water," Dean ordered, bringing the cup to his brother's lips.

Sam frowned and turned away. "Dude, I can lift my own cup," he protested, clumsily taking hold of it.

"Whatever, bitch," Dean snorted. "Try telling me that when you're not slopping water all over the sheets."

"Jer—"

BANG!

The door didn't just break open, it _exploded_ into the room. A man in his late forties strolled in. He had close shaven brown hair, an old zippered windbreaker, and dirty yellow eyes. He was flanked by two younger looking men, each with black eyes. Jess recognized the unique emotional stink that demons gave instantly.

"Well," the yellow-eyed one remarked. "Isn't this a touching family portrait?"

"Azazel," Sam choked out.

"Hi, Sammy," the demon schmoozed. "You left the party too early, you know. We'll have to fix that this time."

"Not before I end you, you son of a bitch," John growled, pulling the gun out of his jacket again.

Azazel flicked his wrist and sent John flying into the wall. The gun clattered onto the floor.

"Take care of the other two." Azazel nodded to the other demons. One came after Jess while the other went for Dean.

Jess collected her thoughts and started to push at the demon, similar to the attack she had used on Meg.

The demon moved too fast, though. It reached out, grabbed her, and twisted her arm viciously. The pain surged all the way up to her shoulder and she could actually hear the bones crack as they broke; like old leaves on the grass. Nausea roared up, and she blinked away the tiny starbursts of pain clouding her vision.

She needed to collect herself. Focus. If she could just—

Another twist, and Jess was brought to her knees, distantly aware of the sob ripping through her body.

But then demon stopped, and Jess took in a shuddering breath. She spared a glance upwards to view her torturer.

He was choking, eyes bugged out and hands clasped around his neck. He rocked back and forth and as he gagged, a plume of greasy, black smoke dropped out of his mouth and slithered to the floor. What the hell…

She looked further and found Sam, arms reached out and face contorted in concentration. Sweat poured from his face as the two demons caught under his control let loose more black smoke.

Jess swallowed back her protests. Sam needed to concentrate. His face furrowed into a deep frown before he squeezed his hands even tighter, sending black smoke pouring from the mouths of the demons and sinking into the floor. The bodies of the hosts dropped, and Jess bit back a whimper as the heavy body jostled her injured arm and pinned her to the ground. A quick visual glance made for a grim diagnosis. The limb was already swelling, and her fingers were facing the wrong way. She didn't even want to know what would happen when she tried moving.

"That was pretty good, Sam," Azazel praised mildly. "I taught you well, I guess."

"Yeah," Sam panted, somehow still standing up. "Maybe too well." He reached up a hand in front of Azazel, and put on that same focused glare.

Azazel simply laughed. "Sammy," he patronized. "You really think those powers will work on me? You have them because of _my blood_. My own blood would never turn on me." Then the demon raised his own hand, and Sam flew up against the wall. "You, on the other hand, betrayed me. You messed up some pretty serious plans by killing Lilith when you did, Sam. Things need to happen in a certain order. I had a _plan_ and you destroyed it. _You,_ of all people."

"Why not me?" Sam spat out. "Did you think I was just going to cave into your big master plan?"

Sam was trying to stall, Jess recognized. But for what? She was practically useless, pinned to the floor. John was unconscious, slumped against the wall. And Dean… Was reaching, she realized. He was making a slow, painful journey across the room and towards his father.

"You're an insignificant worm," Azazel sneered. "I should have crushed you when I had the chance."

"But you didn't," Sam pointed out. "You kept me alive in that truck even after Lilith wanted me dead."

Dean had reached John by now, and was fumbling behind the man's jacket.

"I was curious," Azazel confessed. "To see everything a child of mine was capable of doing. But my curiosity has been satisfied. I won't be making that mistake again."

"You're damn right you won't," Dean called out. There was a flash from his hand as he brought the Colt up and blasted a well-aimed shot at Azazel.

The noise exploded in the small room, and the bullet found its home square in Azazel's head. Light crackled in the entry wound, radiating out from the singed edges. Azazel's host swayed on the spot, the eyes dead before it collapsed to the ground.

Sam sank to the floor as well, taking in a deep shuddering breath. Jess' ears rang from the gunfire.

The room seemed huge now, with Jess, Sam, and Dean all against opposite walls, no one able to summon the strength yet to stand.

"Is…" Jess was afraid to speak it out loud. "Is it…."

"Uh," Dean frowned. "I… I think so."

"Yeah." Sam nodded, the back of his head rubbing against the wall. "It's over."


	17. Epilogue

The cast still felt heavy on Jess' arm. She had already bumped it a few times against the doorframe at Bobby's, earning a worried glare from Dean each time it happened. The arm needed to be treated with extra care. She had already been through surgery with the thing and been gifted with enough metal inside her to set off airport security ever time. Not surprisingly, though, her arm had not been her highest priority.

Sam had been through the wringer, getting steadily worse from the moment Azazel died. She had managed to convince Dean and John to leave her at the local hospital while they shuttled Sam to Bobby's, the safest place they could think of, as quickly as they could. Jess hadn't been pleased to arrive at Sioux Falls and find her fiancé bedridden and barely lucid.

Dean had given her a blank look through bloodshot eyes. "It was worse before," he told her in reply, which just made her all the more anxious. It took a few more days after that before Sam could even recognize her and speak to her and then he was still sick for the longest time.

"Hey," Sam greeted, interrupting her thoughts. He was leaning against the wall, but otherwise stood under his own power which was definitely a win.

"Hey." Jess slid over on the couch. "Come join me."

Sam shuffled over, hands buried in his hoodie. He still looked a little grey in the face, and when Jess leaned against him, she could tell that he had lost a lot of weight while detoxing from the blood in his system.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, her words muffled by his hoodie.

"I had some toast," Sam shrugged.

"You need to eat more," Jess told him.

"Not really feeling up to it yet."

"I could make you, like, a protein shake or something."

"I don't think Bobby has a blender," Sam chuckled.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess not." They had a blender back at Stanford. What had ever happened to it?

"There you are, Sammy," Dean greeted as he entered the room. "I was looking for you."

"I didn't go far, Dean," Sam replied in amusement.

"Yeah, I guess it was about time you got out of bed," Dean grinned and dropped in a chair opposite the couple. "Check out what I found." He tossed a Sharpie marker over to Sam, who caught it and turned it over in his hand.

"What's this for?" Sam asked.

"Your girl's got a blank canvas there," Dean explained. "We can't just leave that alone."

"No way are you drawing on my cast, Dean," Jess objected.

"Aw, I wouldn't do anything too mean," Dean teased. "But you are gonna be my sister, Jessie. And I take that responsibility very seriously."

"Great," Jess groaned.

"Speaking of which, when are you gonna make my brother an honest man? I've gotta look after his virtue, you know."

Sam snorted. "Jerk."

"Well…" Jess pondered. "I don't think either of us wants a long engagement."

"No, definitely not," Sam agreed.

"Awesome," Dean nodded. "Give it a few more days for Sammy to get his legs under him and we'll head down to Vegas."

"Not Vegas," Jess shuddered.

"You know, there's no waiting period in California," Sam mentioned.

"See, that's why I'm marrying a pre-law student," Jess smiled.

Dean frowned. "Right. I guess California is better for you guys anyway."

"Well, my family's down there again," Jess reminded Dean. They had stayed for a week when Jess first came back from the hospital but then needed to head back home and restart their lives. "I'm sure we can get your dad and Bobby to come down easier than to have my family come up," she mused.

"And a lot of our friends live California still," Sam added.

"And you gotta get back to school soon," Dean nodded, giving a tight grin.

"Um, right. School." The prospect glinted faintly in the distance, holding none of the allure it did when they had first been forced to leave Stanford.

"Cause you've got your futures," Dean continued, still nodding mechanically." And… everything."

"You know, there's this case I think we should check out near Redding," Sam mentioned, shifting on the couch.

"Really?" Dean asked, looking at his brother sharply.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "There's been some weird deaths reported that I noticed while I was… um… checking my email. Nothing urgent, but if we can check it out in a few days as we make our way back to Palo Alto, we'd be doing a few people some favours."

"Jess?" Dean turned to her. "You'd be okay with that? You don't have… I dunno, flowers to buy or something?"

"Hell, no," she laughed. "I'll let my mom take care of all that; she'll love it. As long as you guys promise not to leave me in the car just cause I have a gimp arm."

Dean evaluated her with consideration. "We'll just keep you off any of the rifles," he decided. "And make Sammy hold your flashlight."

"Hey!" Sam objected.

"Oh, quit bitching. It's a miracle I'm even saying yes to a hunt like this. You look like a freaking pixie could knock you over right now."

Jess didn't need the use of her fading psychic powers to tell that Dean was excited about the chance of a hunt. And she surprised herself by feeling a little of that excitement as well.

"We'll wait a little bit longer," Jess reassured Sam. "Let you get some more of your strength back."

"Have you eaten yet, Sam?" Dean asked suddenly. "I'll make you something."

"Dammit," Sam rolled his eyes. "Do you two realize that I'm going to get buried under your collective nagging?"

Jess tightened her hug and snuggled a little closer. "You wouldn't want it any other way," she whispered.

He sighed. "You're right," Sam agreed. "I don't."


End file.
